The Anonymous Series
by SinShameGuilt
Summary: A chance encounter leads to an odd attraction that develops into an obsession. "This woman fascinates me. She's beautiful. Intelligent. Articulate. Witty. She's everything I'll ever want, but I don't even know her name."
1. Don't Say A Word

AN: Well, after some encouragement (read: prodding) from the amazing ninapolitan and feathers_mmmmm, I've decided to bring this crazy idea of mine over here to .

WARNING: This piece contains graphic scenes of a sexual nature. These include Dom/sub play and anal penetration. If this bothers you, please hit the back button located at the top left hand side of your screen. If you want to flame my writing, be my guest, but please don't flame the subject matter now that you have been warned. Thank you, and have a nice day.

Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction and is about my _fictionalized version_ of Rob Pattinson. I don't know Rob, Stephanie Meyer or anyone associated with Twilight or Summit Entertainment. Actually, I don't know anyone important, at all. Therefore, no copyright infringement, or offense, is intended. Any offense is completely inadvertent and if offense is taken, I assure you I will be dealt with swiftly and soundly. I promise.

Don't Say A Word

I need to get out of here. I'm sick and tired of the dim lighting and the intense smell of alcohol and cigarettes. Don't get me wrong, I smoke and I certainly enjoy a pint, _**or four**_, now and then. But three fucking hours in a dark corner in an overcrowded, overly decorated hotel bar has pushed me 'round the bend. It didn't help that my mates got me slightly pissed as well. They were sitting there in the booth, chatting away without a care in the world. There was part of me that resented them sometimes. Here we were in this fucking bar, in this fucking hotel, in this fucking city, because I had whored myself out to the entertainment industry. Okay, so that wasn't completely true. Not completely. But I believe for every thought we have there is a minutiae of truth to it. Like I said, I need to get the fuck out of here.

"I'm off," I said casually as I slid out of the booth and pulled the last of my pint. They didn't seem to care, really. In all actuality, they hadn't even looked at me since the three 'women' had joined the table. I'm using that term graciously, by the way. All three of them came on to me, pretty much at the same time. I chuckled at that thought as I slid my way through the crowd to the door. I wasn't trying to be rude, but I made it crystal clear that I was not interested in any of them. Luckily they understood perfectly, and being the celebrity whores they were, simply moved on to my mates. Sex by association? Something like that. I couldn't begrudge my mates a little fun now could I? If only everyone knew that my mates were shagging ten times more than I was. I only wish I were getting laid as much as the press said I was. "Rob Pattinson has the best sex life." _**Indeed**_.

Finally, I made it to the door and squeezed through the line of people into the hotel lobby. I pulled my beanie a little lower for good measure and cautiously looked around for any signs of paparazzi or other sinister beings. I immediately spotted the bastard in the corner by the fake tree. My paranoia was actually helpful sometimes. Ducking low, I decided to just bolt up to my room. It was early and I wasn't too fucked up so even if they got a shot or two they wouldn't get much mileage out of it.

I sort of jogged through the lobby but slowed my pace as I rounded the corner in the hallway by the bank of elevators. Being the glutton for punishment that I am, I peeked back around the corner. The fucking paparazzi hadn't moved. _**Take that, you wanker**_. I spun around with a little spring in my step and a grin on my face. You know your life is shit when avoiding having your picture taken by a rag mag improves your mood. _**Fuck it. I'm going to bed.**_

The button was pressed for the elevator so I shoved my hands in my jean pockets and shivered. I could see my reflection in the shiny elevator doors. I chuckled a little as I realized that I really did look like a fucking homeless person. Beanie, ratty t-shirt, ripped jeans, old nike trainers. Some sex symbol I was. That thought made me laugh a little harder.

"Are you selfish or do you share?"

The voice was smooth but of course my paranoid ass was startled anyway. I spun around to see who was talking. She was staring at me intently. Not the "are you who I think you are" kind of intently but more the "I want to have you as my next meal" intently. I shivered again but this time it wasn't from the chill.

I glanced around to see if perhaps she was speaking to someone else but no such luck. "I beg your pardon?" I really am a timid piece of shit sometimes.

She smiled. It was almost, what's the word I'm looking for, feral? Is that a word? Like she could actually chew me up and spit me out. And then slowly lick her paws clean.

She was still staring up at me, through her lashes, since she was at least a head shorter than I was. "I said are you selfish or do you share?"

I guess my look said I was confused. It said that a lot, but this time it was sincere.

She casually looked down at her handbag, moving it from one arm to the other and opening the latch apparently to look for something. "You were laughing to yourself, I was wondering if you'd share your joke."

She was still looking in her handbag. My train of thought had long since derailed so I tried to bail out of it. "Uh, it really wasn't all that funny to be honest."

"Pity." She was very nonchalant.

Her carefully manicured nails tugged aimlessly at the strap on her handbag as she took a few steps toward me. I guess I stared back, trying to take in her appearance. She had what looked to be a light wool suit on. My sisters and mum would probably call it 'winter white' or some shit like that. The jacket was low cut and there was cleavage everywhere. The skirt was short, tailored and snug. Her heels were high and showed off her pedicure. Her hair was up in a loose bun and there were sunglasses perched up on her head. She wasn't old but she sure as shit was older than I was. She smirked at me and pulled her sunglasses down, tossing them in her bag.

_**Damnit.**_ I really need to get up to my room and go to sleep.

After an eternity in my world, I heard a 'ding' and the elevator doors opened. She walked backwards into the elevator, crooking her finger at me to join her. Did I mention I needed to get some sleep? I shook my head thinking that paranoia and hallucinations are a bad combination. Following her into the elevator, I turned to face the doors and pressed the button for my floor. She had already hit her button and the doors closed quietly. We didn't say a word. I don't even think I breathed. When the elevator stopped at her floor and the doors opened, she stepped around me and into the doorway before turning to look at me. She got that wicked look on her face again and reached out, touching her perfect finger softly to my chin. I didn't move. She slowly traced a line down my neck, over my adam's apple, between my pecs and down my belly to the top of my belt. I was still staring at her finger resting against my belt buckle when I heard her voice again.

"Yes or no?"

I must have had that vacant look again.

She laughed. "Would you understand if I asked if you 'fancy a shag'?"

Yeah. I understood that. I think. What the fuck? "But I don't even know you. . ." I amaze myself with my own brilliance sometimes.

She looked up at me through her lashes again, that playful smirk on her full lips. "That's okay, you probably wouldn't like me if you did. . ."

Did I mention that I like sarcasm? I _**really**_ like sarcasm. I guess I smiled at her comment because the next thing I knew she was dragging me down the hallway by my belt buckle. She stopped at a door and quickly ran her card through the reader, shoving the door open and dragging me inside. Word association result? Surreal.

She pushed me up against the wall next to the door and ran her hands down my chest, dragging her nails roughly over my t-shirt. One of her hands reached up and ripped the beanie off my head. She pulled my hair in the process so I hissed a little bit. She laughed. I think I channeled my mum for a second because I felt the need to spew some proprieties. "So what's your . . ."

She quickly covered my mouth with her fingers. "I'd rather not tell you my name and honestly, I don't care what yours is. It's nothing personal, really. Let's just enjoy this, shall we?" She wasn't being sarcastic and she didn't seem angry or freaked out. She spoke articulately, as if she were telling me my exam scores or something else just as mundane. Did she really not know who I was? Oh God, how narcissistic did that sound?

I felt her fingers push on my lips, prying them apart as her other hand loosened my belt. I finally got the point and sucked her fingers into my mouth. She smelled like fruit or something and her skin was smooth. Why was I thinking so damn much?

This was the point when I stopped thinking about it and decided to just feel it. _**Fuck it.**_ Was it so wrong to want this? Was it so wrong to push the guilt and paranoia away? God, I hope not. I'm pretty sure I'm already going to hell, I suppose now I'll just be in the VIP room.

Closing my eyes I sucked her fingers farther into my mouth, biting down a little and dragging my teeth over her knuckles. I swear she moaned as I heard the distinctive 'clink' of my belt buckle and felt the button and zipper of my jeans loosen. Focusing on her hand in my mouth, I grasped her wrist firmly with one hand and ran my fingers down the underside of her forearm with the other. Another moan. I smiled a little bit at that one as I felt her fingers curl and grip my teeth a little, tugging on my jaw.

She pulled my face down so her mouth was at my ear. "Step out of your jeans and get on the bed." Her voice was tense and a little more gravelly than before. _**Wait.**_ She just basically gave me an order. My cock was pretty sure she gave me an order. _**Fuck.**_ I _**think **_I could play this game. I sure as fuck _**hoped**_ I could play this game.

I looked down at her as she pulled her fingers out of my mouth. I didn't let go of her wrist, though, until I had licked everything off of her hand. I smirked. She moaned. _**Fuck yeah**_, I could play this game.

If I was going to play this game, I was going to do it right. I smirked again as I pulled my jeans off my feet but lowered my eyes and walked over to the bed. If she wanted submissive, she could have submissive. Once I stopped fucking worrying about it, I think I could _**like**_ this game.

"Take the rest of your clothes off." Another fucking order. Why the fuck did that shit turn me on? I vaguely remembered reading some submissive fanfiction shit online. That stuff was fuckin' hot. I may not remember the details of what I read but I remember wanking to that shit for hours.

I reached behind my neck and pulled my t-shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor in the direction of my jeans. Here was my test. If I was going to be a pussy, now would be the time. Again, I decided to stop thinking and just do what I was told. My little smirk came back as I slid my boxers down my thighs and tossed those to the side as well. "The bed. On your knees, sitting on your heels." Without looking up at her, I climbed on the bed and scooted to the center, 'on my knees, sitting on my heels.' When I did look up again she was looking through a bag that was sitting in the open armoire.

She had taken off her heels but other than that she was still completely dressed. I watched as she casually walked back to the bed and reached behind me. I think she was propping up the pillows but I couldn't be sure. I half turned to look back to see what she was doing. I didn't make it far before her hand came across my cheek, hard. "Did I tell you to move?"

I got hard. Very fucking hard. I put my chin to my chest and closed my eyes. My cheek fucking hurt, but in the best possible way. Let's really get into this. "I'm sorry Mistress."

She stopped what she was doing behind me and I felt her lean in close. I could smell her. That fruity shit again. Pretty fuckin' deceiving if you ask me. "What did you just call me?" She was seething. I could hear it in her voice, she was _livid_. That shit went straight to my cock.

I lifted my head up a little bit and turned toward her. She was right there, staring at me. Her lips were parted, her eyes were dark and glazed over and her chest was heaving.

"Mistress," I whispered. I almost got my eyes closed again before her hand cracked against my cheek. I think my eyes rattled in their sockets that time. My cock couldn't have cared less.

"Let's get something straight. I am _not_ your mistress. You are _not_ my sub." Her voice was still very sharp but I could tell she was getting more aroused and less angry. "You should be so fucking lucky. If you don't want to play this game properly then you need to leave right now." I took a deep breath and held it but I didn't move. I just lowered my chin back down to my chest and stayed there.

When she spoke again, her voice was completely different. It was angelic, melodic, like a fairy fucking god-mother or something. "Wonderful. It makes me very happy that you don't want to leave." She ran her finger across the back of my neck. "Have you ever done anything like this before?" I didn't fucking move. I _knew_ better now. "Shake your head yes or no." I shook my head from side to side. "Is the thought of my dominating you arousing?" She could see the answer to that one if she just looked at my cock. I'm pretty sure I could bust concrete with it about now. "Shake your head yes or no." I nodded my head enthusiastically. God, I'm a moron. I'm supposed to be so fucking cool, some kind of sex god and here I am in a hotel with some hot dominatrix type telling me what to do and the best I can manage is to nod my head like a fucking puppy in heat.

"Do you know what a safe word is? Shake your head." I did know this part. If you weren't man enough to take it, you said the word. I was man enough. _I hope._ I nodded my head, just a little this time. "Good. Your safe word is Summer. Other than that word, I don't want to hear anything come out of that pretty mouth that isn't a moan or a grunt." _Fuck._ _Me._ "If I ask you a question, the answer will be either yes or no and you may shake or nod your head. Do you understand?" I nodded.

"Good," she said casually. "Now I want you to masturbate for me." Was she serious? _Idiot._ Of course she was fucking serious. Stop thinking so damn much and _wank._ I couldn't feel her at my side any longer. I raised my chin just a bit and looked around. She was standing at the foot of the bed, staring at me. Her suit coat was open now and I could see she was completely bare underneath it. That did it. I took my cock in my right hand and squeezed, punctuating it with a groan.

_God._ There was pre-cum all over my head and I smoothed it down my shaft, just barely touching myself now. I watched as she opened her jacket a bit more. I could see the edge of her breasts and saw her curl both of her fists around the collar. Her hands moved down the middle of her chest and I knew her fingers were grazing her nipples. _Fuck._ I was gripping harder now. It was nice and slick. My strokes were smooth and even and I gave an extra tug on the head, using my forefinger and thumb to make a tight little ring. Yeah. Just like that. _Jesus._ I could feel it coming, no pun intended. My eyes were half closed now and I tightened my fingers around my cock.

The tugging sensation started building in my lower back, down through my hips and right into my balls. My thighs burned a little now since I had lifted up off my heels, rocking my hips into my hand.

I felt the tension moving up into my belly; you know, that slow burning shit that came when it was going to be really _really_ good. My balls were tightening up and I used my left hand to grab them, squeezing and rolling them around. My breathing was shallow and I grit my teeth, letting out some hisses as I kept rocking my hips into my hand. There was more pre-cum seeping out, making it slicker and slicker. The friction was there, the warmth was there, the wet was there. _I_ was almost there, I just needed a little push. I looked up at her again and she was raking her nails across her nipples and biting her lip like it fucking hurt. Oh God. That's so fucking. . .

"STOP," she screamed at me. Wait, _what?_ My hips stopped but my fist only slowed down. I was too fucking close. Was she kidding? _Duh._ How many fucking times did I have to ask myself that stupid ass question? I felt her move around to my side again and my nipples got so tight they literally hurt. "I said STOP," she snarled in my ear. My hand stopped but held on tight. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I held my breath to keep from just fucking cumming all over myself.

"Good boy," she purred. She was close enough that I felt her breath in my ear. I smelled that fucking fruity shit again and _damnit_ I was going to spontaneously combust if she didn't do something soon. "So, if I am nice and let you have an easy orgasm now, are you going to be able rebound quickly?" I nodded my head frantically. She laughed. I swear to God that evil bitch laughed at me. Why did that go straight to my cock? Because apparently, I'm a slut like that, that's why.

The bed shifted a little and I could tell she climbed up next to me. I was right there on the edge of orgasm and my whole fucking body was hypersensitive. She was close enough that I felt the skin on my arm burning from her body heat. _God._ If she'd just fucking let me cum already. I felt her hand on my hip. Dragging her fingernails across it, scraping her way to the small of my back. _Fuck._ I literally heard her lick her lips. _Bitch._ "You might want to grip your cock a little tighter at the base honey." Her fucking voice was killing me. "Because trust me, if you cum before I tell you to, it could be very, very bad." I swear to God the heat from her breath was burning my cheek.

I took her advice and slid my fist down to the base of my cock, moaning at the sensation of movement. I made a tighter ring with my fingers and thumb and pulled it taught to help stop the blood flow. I could do this. I'm a big boy, _right?_ A shiver ran down my spine as her hand moved from the small of my back, sliding down, palming my ass. I wanted to open my eyes and look at her but there was no fucking way. Just the image of her tugging on her own nipples, those dark rose tips turning into the diamond cutters, would kill me. _Fuck._ I tightened the grip on my cock and closed my eyes harder trying to concentrate.

Her hand moved. She wasn't touching me anymore. _Bitch_. She was still next to me though, I still felt the heat radiating off her body. Now I know why people use blindfolds. A minute later, or a fucking hour, I don't know, she leaned back toward me. I felt her chest against my arm and her nipples rubbed against the hair there. Her hand was back, literally. I felt her fingers on my lower back, only they were warm and slick this time. _Oh God._ What the fuck was she doing. She gently dragged her hand down, sliding her fingers between my cheeks. I felt her smoothing the warm slick lube around in small circles, putting just a little pressure on me with one of her fingers. _Fuck me._ Why the fuck did that feel so good? What was my safeword again? _Fuck me._

"Would you like to cum now?" I nodded my head and I swear to God the world tilted on its axis. At the very least the room was spinning. She hadn't moved. I hadn't moved. But the feeling of my head shaking threw off my focus. I pulled my lip into my mouth and bit down while I gripped my cock tighter, stretching it out, trying to stave off the inevitable. I was in serious pain now, no kidding around. I know my face was screwed up like I was being tortured. Probably because I was being tortured.

Her hand started moving again, slow circles, more pressure. Circles. Pressure. Circles. Pressure. When she slipped her finger in I almost screamed. I couldn't tell if it was in pleasure or pain though. I wanted to scream my safeword, if I could fucking remember it. But I also wanted to lower myself down on her hand to get it deeper. I didn't have to do either. I felt her slide another finger in and she moved them gently. Moaning. That's all I could hear. Moaning. And it was me that was moaning. The urge to stroke my cock was building but it was like an elephant was sitting on my chest and I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

She pulled her fingers out. I felt dirty because I didn't want her to. _Bitch._ Before I had time to really hate her though, I felt something smooth. It was smooth and round and warm and slick just like her fingers were, only it wasn't her fingers. It was hard, very hard. Speaking of hard, my cock was fucking leaking all over the place. I felt it dripping down onto my balls. It was warm and slick, too. _Oh God._ I needed to cum so fucking bad.

While I was thinking about that she was shoving her toy further into me. I didn't move. I tried to figure out if I hated her or loved her and what the fuck was that safeword again? Again with the thinking too damn much. As I scolded myself she turned that fucking thing on and it was over. The buzzing. The vibrations. The pressure. The tension. The burning. The smell of her. The sound of her voice telling me to cum for her. I loosened my fist and that was it. I didn't even have to pump my cock once before I was spewing everywhere. I swear I think I hit the mirror across the room. It was that fucking good.

I don't remember much of the next few minutes. When I actually came out of the fog, I was curled up in the fetal position on the bed with my head in her lap. She was stroking my hair and softly brushing my cheek with her fingertips. I felt like I had run a fucking marathon. I opened my eyes and all I could see was the creamy skin of her belly and one perfectly manicured hand. I had never felt so fucking content in my life. I sighed deeply and snuggled, yes I fucking said snuggled, deeper into her.

"That's it. Rest up sweetie, you'll need lots of energy very soon. . ."


	2. Patience is a Virtue

AN: So here is the next installment of our series of torrid trysts with Mr. Pattinson and his mystery lady. She has much to teach her young jedi and his first lesson may be the hardest – patience.

WARNING: This piece contains graphic scenes of a sexual nature. These include Dom/sub play and anal penetration. If this bothers you, please hit the back button located at the top left hand side of your screen. If you want to flame my writing, be my guest, but please don't flame the subject matter now that you have been warned. Thank you, and have a nice day.

DISCLAIMER: This is a complete work of fiction and is about my _fictionalized version_ of Rob Pattinson. I don't know Rob, Stephanie Meyer or anyone associated with Twilight or Summit Entertainment. Actually, I don't know anyone important, at all. Therefore, no copyright infringement, or offense, is intended. Any offense is completely inadvertent and if offense is taken, I assure you I will be dealt with swiftly and soundly. I promise.

Patience is a Virtue

I looked down at the card for probably the 1000th time today. It was nothing more than a plain, white business card with black printing. No name. No address. No business. Just a phone number and an **_ID_** number. I didn't trust myself to put it in my mobile. One, I lose fucking mobiles like they're giving them away. And two, with my luck someone would do a drunk dial, or something equally as stupid, to that number. With my luck, that someone would be me.

So, instead of putting it in my phone, I put it in my wallet. There's never much in my wallet: my international drivers' license, SAG card, a couple of credit cards, maybe a little cash, and this plain white card. I can't believe I haven't fucking lost it yet. That's probably because I haven't taken it _out_ of my wallet since the last time I was in New York. I dragged my hand down my face and scratched the stubble on my chin. I wanted to scream. I couldn't decide if I was actually crazy or just plain stupid. I wanted to send the text, I really did. But in all honesty, it scared the fuck out of me. I shoved the card back in my wallet and went back into the bar. I'd be in New York for four more days. If I still wanted to do it tomorrow, I would. Right now, I needed a good alcohol induced nap.

*******

_God. Everything was so fuzzy, almost psychedelic. All I could see was her eyes, bright green, staring up at me through her lashes while her perfect lips wrapped around my cock. I wasn't allowed to touch her. She said it would be bad if I disobeyed her. She didn't bind my hands though. She said it was to test my control. What control? As soon as my cock hit the back of her throat and she swallowed, flexing her esophagus around me, I lost whatever shred of control she thought I had. I gripped her head with both hands, selfishly fisting her hair. Before I had tensed a muscle to thrust harder into her mouth, I was curled up on the bed praying I still had a cock. She drew blood. I swear to God. I still have the scar to prove it._

***

Cat fur, matted in urine. That's what the taste in my mouth was. It had to be. I cracked my eye open and cringed at the light seeping through the heavy hotel room drapes. Daylight. Fuck. Note to self: Don't drink Jagermeister. Ever.

Of all people to trust, my tool of a manager? Why did I let him take me drinking last night? Footnote to note to self: Don't drink with people you don't know exceptionally well. My head hurt. My eyes hurt. My skin hurt. My hair hurt. Okay, I laughed at that one but only because I didn't have any hair to hurt. It hurt to laugh, though. I tentatively ran my hand over my head. Damn. They really did buzz it off. Hair? What hair? I don't need no stinkin' hair. I tried to smile again. It hurt.

A couple of hours, six aspirin, two quarts of water, a shower and a pot of coffee later, I was beginning to feel human again. My manager called to see how I was feeling. I not so nicely told him to go fuck himself and said he was not a part of my plans for the day. What exactly were my plans for the day? I sat on the balcony smoking a cigarette, and looked out over Central Park. This city sucked. Not as bad as L.A., but it still sucked. I needed a neighborhood feel. That "local" thing we have in London. There, you stick with your friends and the bartender doesn't let you get stupid drunk.

More interviews tomorrow. MTV and the Today Show. Meredith Fucking Viera or whatever the hell her name was. Uptight bitch. Where the fuck did that come from? This shit was getting to me again. I was thinking about it too much. I need a diversion.

Have you ever done something you know is wrong? Well, maybe not wrong, but scary as fuck? Like, almost, _'you may not come back alive'_ scary? I used to make fun of people who said they did stuff like that. Why the fuck would you put yourself in that kind of position? Now I knew why. Because it was a _rush_.

Adrenaline is a powerful thing. The feeling is unmistakable. And unforgettable. I've felt it while I was working at times and it was amazing; I felt it while I was being mobbed and it was fucking scary; and I felt it during sex, and it was unfuckingbelievable. Thinking about that kind of rush is what made me want to send the text. I remember her instructions as she left that early that morning.

_"If you decide you want to do this again," she said, holding a business card in her hand and dragging the edge of it across my lips. "Send a text with the date and time you want." She looked me in the eye and gave me a little smirk. "You do have a cell phone, don't you?" I nodded. "Good. You'll get a text back telling you if I'm available or not." I watched her grab her handbag, leaving the room key on the dresser. "The room is paid for, you can sleep here if you like." She pushed me down so I sat on the edge of the bed. Her face came close and her lips parted. I closed my eyes and felt her tongue graze the edges of my lips. I stayed still and felt her smile before I opened my eyes. "Such a good boy," she said as she walked to the door. "Call room service if you like, have breakfast on me." I heard her chuckle as the door closed, "you earned it."_

I took a deep breath and quickly typed out the text: "ID 05131986, December 20, 7pm /s" I hovered over the send button and before I could change my mind, I sent it. Honestly, I doubted it would be accepted on such short notice. Maybe deep down, that's what I was hoping for.

Five minutes later my phone beeped. I opened up the text. "Accepted. Hotel on Rivington Room 810 7pm" _Fuck._ I decided I needed some sleep to make up for the night before. I'd probably just end up remembering the last time anyway. . .

*******

_It felt warm. The heat was radiating off of her skin. We were lying on our sides, her back pressed tightly against my chest. One of my hands was firmly pinching her breasts, rough and hard, just like she had told me. My other hand was holding her thigh over my hip as I thrust into her from behind. She was warm and tight and I could feel every smooth, silky flex of her muscles as she pulled me in deeper. The room smelled like sex. Whatever that smelled like. I think it just smelled like sweat. And fruit. She kept telling me to slow down. It was fucking amazing. Four, maybe five thrusts a minute. She wanted it that slow. If I leaned back just a little, I could watch myself slip in and out of her. I was covered in her essence. I convinced myself I could smell it on her. The head would disappear as her firm, round ass pressed deep into my hips with every stroke. We were both moving, but just barely. Sliding gently over the satin sheets. Her hands were gripping the headboard, twisted over one another. I watched in fascination as the muscles in her wrists flexed with every pull, every thrust. _

**_This was round three. For me, anyway. After my fucking hot wank, she blew me to get me hard again. God. I could still feel her teeth on the ridge below the head of my cock. Grating lightly against my skin while her tongue teased my frenulum. Yes, she actually stopped to have a vocabulary lesson while giving me head. How fucking hot was that? She gave good brain and good head. I know. Not that funny right? Okay. Fuck it. Then she rode me really slow till I came a second time. Thinking of her on top of me. Grinding me into the mattress. The strength in her thighs was phenomenal. I needed to refocus or I was going to cum again. She certainly wasn't in any rush. She moaned here and there but her face was content and her body was languid. I hope she was enjoying the ride. I sure as hell was. One thing bothered me though. She hadn't cum yet. At all._**

**_We talked about it afterward. She described her orgasms as a step-ladder. Each rung was a different level of pleasure. Sometimes you only needed to use a couple of steps to get what you wanted. Other times, the ladder was barely high enough. She stroked my ego and told me that it wasn't that she wasn't enjoying herself, she was showing me the potential in using the whole ladder. I was determined to get her to the top of that fucking ladder. _**

_I couldn't help it. My ego was taking a hit. I started begging. "I need you to cum for me. I need you to help me get you there. Tell me what to do." She smiled and apparently took pity on me. She took my hand and pulled it over our hips, guiding our fingers to where we were joined. My fingers were pressed against her and I started moving them over her. _

_"**No, sweetie. Just push, I just need pressure." She was whispering now, her eyes closed. I watched in fascination as she put her hands back up on the headboard, gripping firmly and stretching her legs out against mine. That was the only movement she needed. She held perfectly still. And I watched. Her face didn't give anything away and her body didn't move. Moments later, with me buried inside her, frozen, pressing on her clitoris, she came. God, did she cum. I felt it in my toes. It wasn't a flash of light or an explosion. It was more of a rolling sensation. Like a wave of excitement or a small current of electricity. Now I could really smell her. Well, us. It was warm and earthy.**_

**_We hadn't moved but I realized I was still hard and still inside her. I wasn't sure what to do. I sure as hell didn't want to ruin her moment. It took me fucking forever to get her there. As always, she anticipated my question. Anticipated my need. She brought her hand back between us, pulling my fingers away from her and moving them down to graze against me. I felt her pulling me in further, tightening around me, flexing and releasing. God. She whispered, "your turn," and I came. Just like she had. Quietly and intensely. _**

*******

The hotel phone rang and I grabbed at it if for no other reason than to stop the noise. I heard the automated voice say "This is your wake up call." _Thanks_. I looked at my watch and scrubbed my hands down my face trying to wake up. Food. I was going to need sustenance. I dialed room service and ordered a steak and veg. I was going to need long term energy. Then I called the concierge to see how far away the Hotel on Rivington was. Fifteen minutes by cab. Good. I shuddered at the thought of being late.

An hour later I was showered and tucking in to my food. There was a part of me that was nervous, but I think there was a bigger part of me that was excited. What did she call it last time? _Erotic anticipation_. I finished eating, brushed my teeth, grabbed my wallet, key card and phone and slipped on my jacket. I chuckled to myself as I grabbed my beanie. No one had pictures of the haircut yet. I'd probably be more likely to get recognized wearing the beanie so I tossed it on the nightstand and left.

The cabbie was quiet. Thank God. I don't know why it annoys me when people talk in a car. Maybe I'm just worried the driver won't concentrate and we'll crash. _I really need to see someone about this paranoia shit._

*******

When I got to the room, my instructions had been simple. Pay close attention. Figure out what she wanted. Go as long as I could without release. My first thought had been, _why don't I just read your fucking mind while I'm at it_? But now? Now, I got it. The cues were there. They were always there. I just hadn't looked for them before.

There was no way for me to tell how long we'd been going _this_ time. She was on her back, her hands gripping the metal rods in the headboard. Her long red hair was spread out on the ivory pillows beneath her. She was looking at me with those freakishly bright green eyes. She was _instructing _me as she called it. This _lesson_ was about non-verbal communication. I was thrusting very slowly, with shallow penetration. Basically, just teasing her. Her eyes were darkening and there was a hint of a smirk on her face. She was telling me something. I felt her knees slide up over my hips, squeezing gently, drawing me just a little bit closer to her. Her muscles were contracting, clenching, tightening, like she was trying to force me out of her body. But I wasn't going anywhere. In fact, she was telling me it was time to step up my game.

Closing my eyes, I forced myself to maintain control. I was trying to think about this clinically. Anything to stave off the fireworks that were burning in my belly. Gently, I increased the penetration, adding just a couple of inches. _There_ it was. I felt my head graze over her g-spot and I stopped. I was so sensitive I could feel the ridges inside her body as they contracted against me. I did my best to hold the pressure right _there_. Her eyes glazed a bit and I felt a little smug. But I could do better. I _knew_ I could do better.

Very carefully, I brought my hands up to her knees and slowly pushed them back, toward her chest, opening her up further. I held still but I felt her quiver around me. _God_, she had amazing control over her body. I swear I could feel her flexing her muscles around me, _one at a time_. Finally, her knees were pressed flat against her chest, just to the outside of her breasts. _Her breasts_. I brushed my thumbs over the inside of her thighs as I held her in that position. Tilting my hands just a bit, I could reach her firm, dark nipples. _Thank God for long fingers_. I watched her intently as I toyed with her. Her face was blissful. Her lips were parted slightly, her neck was flushed. Her eyelids looked heavy but she held them open_, just for me, I hope._

I could feel the pressure building in my back. I wasn't going to last all that much longer. I quirked an eyebrow at her and smiled as I slowly filled her. She shifted minutely and I felt my balls tighten as they settled firmly into the nook between her thighs. She could sense I was giving in. Apparently, that was not acceptable. She let go of the headboard and braced her hands on my forearms. I was still holding her knees tightly to her chest. She didn't thrust. She didn't swivel. She didn't really move at all. She just kind of _pushed_ against me. With every muscle inside her pussy. She just _pushed_. Trying to force me out. But I wasn't going anywhere. I tensed up and held still while she fucked me without moving and pushed me through yet another plateau. _God._

*******

We actually had long conversations in between "scenes" as she called them. She was trying to help me understand the whole dominant submissive thing. It was obvious I got off on it, she was just trying to help me understand why. There are so many things about this woman that fascinated me. She was beautiful. Classically beautiful at that. Intelligent. Articulate. Witty. She was everything any man could ever dream of. Except I didn't even know her name.

She didn't even let me get out of the entryway when I'd first arrived. She was on her knees and tugging at my belt.

"This is a free one sweetie," she said as she pulled my jeans and pants down. She looked up at me with that feral look that always commanded my attention. "Grab my head, fuck my mouth, hard as you want, I don't care. I just need you to cum fast so we can get on to the good stuff."

Her voice was such a dichotomy. This sweet, lilting, melodic tone would say the filthiest, most wonderful things.

I could still see her eyes as I looked down while she had me in her mouth. She was staring at me. Her eyes never ceased to amaze me. There was something about them I couldn't figure out. They were green. Green eyes never particularly stood out to me before, but hers? She even kept them open while she swallowed.

*******

Four hours. We'd been at this for four hours. Not continuously, mind you. I'm good apparently, but not a fucking robot. She told me I needed to think about other things. Take my mind off the obvious and separate the physical from the psychological. She likened it to being at a really good party where you didn't know anyone. You could sit and enjoy the fun without the annoyance or distraction of deep conversation. I tried to focus on this as she led me into the bathroom.

She turned to face me, leaning against the counter. Her fingertips ghosted across my collarbone as she leaned up, whispering against my neck. "I'm going to let you lead this time." I froze. What the fuck did she mean by that? She sensed my fear. I swear she was part cat. "I want to see how much you've learned tonight. How much you can control yourself." She tugged on my nipple as her tongue flattened over my adam's apple. "There won't be any punishment," she said with a chuckle. "But don't think I'm going to make it easy on you."

With that she turned to face the mirror and reached back to take my hands in hers. I stared at her in the mirror, trying to relax and concentrate. I had come to realize that the whole dom/sub thing was not really about control. It was about trust. It was about pleasure. It was about faith in humanity. To surrender yourself was the ultimate act of trust. And to have someone put their faith in your hands? That was quite humbling.

She placed her hands on top of mine, pressing gently onto her breasts. I felt the firm ridges of her nipples against my palms and sighed. Focus, Pattinson. Pulling her tighter to my body, I leaned down, running my tongue softly up curve of her shoulder. I paused at the crook of her neck, biting down slightly, then releasing and dragging my lips across the mark to sooth it. She'd shown me how fine the line was between pleasure and pain. Now I was going to try and return the favor.


	3. Erotic

AN: So. . .here we are with the third encounter. This one is a little more psychological than the other ones. Rob is going through some changes. I hope I've managed to draw you in so you can go through those changes with him.

Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to continue writing this series. Alice, Nina, Jen, Lauren, Liv, Meg and everyone who suffered through my proofing process. A special thank you and welcome to PoeticCheese who has simply baffled me with her amazing grammar/editing skills. She is fabulous and I'm looking forward a long and happy life with her :)

WARNING: This piece contains graphic scenes of a sexual nature. These include Dom/sub play and anal penetration. If this bothers you, please hit the back button located at the top left hand side of your screen. If you want to flame my writing, be my guest, but please don't flame the subject matter now that you have been warned. Thank you, and have a nice day.

Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction and is about my _fictionalized version_ of Rob. I don't know Rob, Stephanie Meyer or anyone associated with Twilight or Summit Entertainment. Actually, I don't know anyone important, at all. Therefore, no copyright infringement, or offense, is intended. Any offense is completely inadvertent and if offense is taken, I assure you I will be dealt with swiftly and soundly. I promise.

Erotic

**e·rot·ic ** (ĭ-rŏt'ĭk)  
adj.

1. Of or concerning sexual love and desire; amatory.

2. Tending to arouse sexual desire.

3. Dominated by sexual love or desire.

[Greek erōtikos, from erōs, erōt-, _sexual love_.]  
**e·rot'ic**_ n._, **e·rot'i·cal·ly**_ adv._

**e·rot·i·ca ** (ĭ-rŏt'ĭ-kə)  
pl.n. _(used with a sing. or pl. verb)_  
Literature or art intended to arouse sexual desire.

[Greek erōtika, from neuter pl. of erōtikos, _erotic_; see **erotic**.]

literary or artistic works having an erotic theme; especially, books treating of sexual love in a sensuous or voluptuous manner. The word erotica typically applies to works in which the sexual element is regarded as part of the larger aesthetic aspect. It is usually distinguished from pornography, which can also have literary merit but which is usually understood to have sexual arousal as its main purpose.

***

_Erotic._ For some insane reason I always thought I understood what that word meant. I realize now that I had no fucking clue what it meant. Now I see that I've had some sanitized, superficial, juvenile understanding of what was _erotic_ and what _erotica_ was. I'm slowly realizing what a dumbass I've been for most of my life. What's that old saying? "The older I get, the smarter my parents are?" Yeah, it's sort of like that. Although I doubt this is what my parents had in mind when they imagined my educational pursuits.

She was distracting. _Damn, that was the understatement of the fucking century._ I was so distracted after our last encounter I couldn't think straight. This shit was getting to me. I felt like she was seeping into my brain. Little things. The smallest fucking thing, like the way a comb was laying on the counter would just throw me back into thoughts of her and the things we had done. I couldn't stop thinking about her. She made me think about things that I wouldn't have even imagined a year or two ago. She made me _do_ things that I wouldn't have imagined a year or two ago.

Now I'm lying here, alone, on a bed in this cold hotel room. I think it might be dark outside. It's winter time and it gets dark early in the winter, right? I can't see a clock, though, so I'm not positive of the time. There's no TV or music on. The only sounds I can hear are the creaks and groans of the hotel as people go about their day. The only thing to do, really, is think. With my current mindset, what is there to think about? _Her_, of course. I'm certain that was her plan all along. I signed up to play along, didn't I? I tried to convince myself I'd asked for this as I leaned my head back against the pillows and thought back to the night before . . .

***

She was letting me _lead_. Not really letting me dominate, but more like letting me dictate. She was bent over the counter in the bathroom. Her arms were spread wide, stretching away from her body. Her chin was resting on the marble and her eyes focused on the mirror, staring at our reflection. She was fucking beautiful.

"Spread your legs for me," I whispered hoarsely as I casually ran my fingers over the lines of her back.

Without taking her eyes off me she carefully slid her feet along the tile, bending her knees a bit. I watched her carefully as she pushed her belly toward the floor so her hips rose up, taunting me. I reached over and firmly wrapped my hands around her shoulders, pulling her back so that she was flush with my hips. Just skin on skin. No penetration. Just sensation. Rocking slowly against her, I loosened my grip and reverently dragged my palms down her back, tracing a random pattern down to her waist. Her skin was smooth and soft, but now I noticed there were freckles everywhere. How had I not noticed those before? I ran my fingers over a small group of them just at the curve of her hip. There were eight of them there. I casually glanced over her back again, looking for another constellation. There was another cluster just below her right shoulder. Seven this time. Again, I ran my fingers over them softly before leaning down to kiss them. I let my lips linger on her shoulder and felt her sigh.

Barely lifting my lips away from her back, I exhaled and let the rush of moist air settle over her skin. I could feel the chill it left there. The juxtaposition of that, and the warmth of her skin made my nipples tighten. My skin was so sensitized to her at that moment, that I felt the hair on my chest prickle a little bit. I wrapped my arms around her chest, pressing my hands gently into her belly. The skin was soft and pliable and I felt it envelop my hands, warming them. I sighed deeply. She had given me so much. It was my turn.

Smooth. The skin of her belly was smooth and bare. I traced my fingers down her hips, then firmly dragged them up in between her thighs. It was moist and warm, and I could feel her blood pulsing through the tips of my fingers. I stayed pressed against her. I was rock hard, but in a calm and stable way. _This was about her._

I'd never touched her like this before. She was always either ready for me, or she did it herself. To me, this was yet another level of intimacy. I'm not sure what it was for her. Given the situation, I would probably never know. My hands were inside her, touching her. Her muscles twitched under my fingers. Her vulva swelled and took me deeper. I slid my fingers under the hood of her clitoris, intentionally palming her Mons and pressing inward to increase the pressure there. She trembled briefly, and then I felt her take her control back. I smiled inwardly. She was in such control of her actions and her body, for the most part. The firmness of her clitoris and the wetness covering my hands, however, were secrets that her body gave away on its own.

I took a deep breath and gently leaned my forehead in between her shoulder blades. I was psyching myself up. Her words, her "instructions" came back to me.

_"Being a Dominant isn't about what you want, it's about what your partner wants. It's not about fulfilling your needs; it's about their needs. Always."_

"What do you need, luv?" I whispered, reverently.

She took in a deep breath and looked up at my reflection in the mirror. Her eyes twinkled like a mischievous kitten about to wreak havoc on her owner's Christmas tree. Without a word, she reached to her left, grabbing something from the counter and tightening her fist around it. Her eyes held me hostage. Finally, she pushed the object from her hand against my fingers. I glanced at it and looked back at her immediately, raising an eyebrow. She knew this was out of my comfort zone, but she also knew I understood. My wants didn't matter anymore. This was what she needed. I leaned back a little and she stood up, turning to face me. Her hands slid up my shoulders and I felt her fingers dig into my scalp as she dragged me closer to her lips. _"Trust me. This is for both of us." _I closed my eyes and nodded. I believed her. My senses bristled with excitement as she pulled the tube of warming lube from my hand and slid past me, heading back into the suite.

***

I had never felt anything so tight in my life. At first, I just didn't think I could do it. But I needed to, for her. I listened carefully to her instructions and took my time thoroughly preparing her. I guess I was mentally preparing myself as well. She was very empathetic and encouraged me with both her words and her responsiveness. I supposed the repressed Englishman in me had issues believing she wanted this, but she did. She _really_ wanted this. The sounds she made, the way she moved her body. _Amazing._ Up until this point, she had been so quiet and reserved in the scenes. She told me later that it was a matter of focus and control. While everything was physically stimulating, certain acts were more cerebral and certain ones were more physical. This particular one seemed much more physical than anything we had done.

We dragged the ottoman over to the window and she kneeled on it. She stretched her neck and straightened her posture. Finally, she snapped her head down and drew her arms to her sides. I saw goosebumps on her skin and her nipples go taut as she leaned forward slightly against the cold glass. She pressed her forehead down and slowly raised her arms out toward the sides of the window. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was rigid. but even. I moved to her right side and tugged on the drapery cord to make sure it was sturdy.

I wanted her to know I was there. I needed her to know that I would take care of her, and that I would make it good for her. That was what all of this was about. To that end, I laved my tongue from her elbow to her wrist, nipping softly in between. Pulling the cord around her wrist, I tightened it a bit before securing it. It was smooth and soft, and I hoped it wouldn't chafe her delicate skin. Tension came off her in waves. I felt it through the muscles in her shoulders as I moved to her other side, lazily running my fingers across her back to continue assuring her I was there.

After securing her left wrist, I reached for the blindfold she had laid out for me. I breathed softly into her cheek as I pulled it over her eyes. "You want this, don't you?" I asked quietly. I heard a quick breath and then she simply nodded. "Once I'm inside you," I continued, "Can you describe it to me? What it feels like?" I saw a hint of smile on her lips as she nodded again.

I nudged her back, raising her torso up and moved her closer to the glass, sliding in behind her. I stretched my legs out across the ottoman and nestled my hips between her feet. I couldn't help but stare for a moment. She looked stunning, bound, hovering above me, aroused and ready. The anticipation was insane. Running one hand down her back, I wrapped the other hand around my cock. It was painfully hard and slick. It seemed like we started our preparations hours ago, even though I knew it was only moments. She knew I was there. I ghosted the back of my hand across her thigh and whispered, "I'm ready for you, luv." Then I just watched as she stretched her thighs further apart and lowered herself down.

My eyes felt like they would pop out of my head at the pressure. Just watching her squirm until the head slipped past her tight ring of muscle, I was beside myself. The sensation was amazing. It was like a vice grip around the base, but then the most wonderful, smooth muscle fit snugly and comfortably along the rest of me. It reminded me of the first scene with her, squeezing the base of my cock to hold off my orgasm. _Oh, God._

She was so graceful. Although it seemed counter-intuitive, this position was meant to put her in control. She set the pace. She set the depth. She took her time with me, moving slow, allowing deeper penetration every few strokes. I wanted to close my eyes and let the feelings wash over me, but there was something striking about seeing her reflection in the window. It was a stark contrast to the black sky and neon skyline that dominated the view from the window. The room lights were low, but I could still see the reflection of her face. It wasn't wrought with pain, as I imagined it would be. It was taut with concentration and pleasure. I got the feeling that, for her, I could have been anyone at the moment. At that point, I was nothing more than observer. On some level, that saddened me.

She said she didn't expect me to last long. She was honest about that. She also said that it didn't matter because in this position because she'd climb the ladder fast. Surprisingly, I didn't feel an impending sense of orgasm, or even a roiling tension building. I was fine. I was obviously a sex god. Until she started to talk . . .

She held very still. I could feel the backs of her thighs against mine. I could feel the small of her back arched and pressing into my belly. I breathed in her scent as she squared her shoulders and eased back to rest against me. Up to this point, she had vocalized her pleasure through short raspy moans and contented sighs. But as she took me in completely and relaxed, as if she were casually sitting on my lap, I could almost see the fog lift and her lucidity return.

"So you want me to describe it to you?" She whispered as I watched her struggle minutely with her wrist bindings and I felt her squirm a little in my lap.

"Tell me what you're feeling," I whispered into her shoulder. I really did want to know. What was her fascination with this? My sexually juvenile mind couldn't understand what this did for her.

"I feel. . ." she said softly as she lifted up and took a slow full stroke, "Like you're completely inside me. Like there isn't room for anything else, physically or psychologically. Like I'm consumed by you."

My body tightened at her words. Why was that so erotic? She wasn't using dirty words or asking me to fuck her, she was just . . .telling me what she was feeling, just like I asked her to. I carefully firmed up my posture and dragged my fingers up her thighs, over her hips, and up the length of her sides, to her breasts. I pinched her nipples roughly as I kissed the nape of her neck. "What else are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling you relax and enjoy this," she said, letting me hear the smirk in her voice. "This is as much for you as it is for me, you know," she said solemnly. I smiled and snaked my tongue out to taste the soft skin behind her ear. The taste was strong, but earthy and sweet. Finally, she sped up her rhythm, gliding smoothly and evenly over me. A few more words. A few more strokes until she was pushing down hard, slamming in to me, grunting and gasping. I grabbed her hips to steady her. She told me to cum for her. My body responded instantly, and without question. She fell back against me and I held her tightly as every last ounce of tension seemed to flow out of my body, along with my semen.

After bracing her in that position for several minutes, she rolled her neck as if it were stiff. Another lesson she had taught me. Aftercare. Not only were the sub's needs the priority during a scene, but also after a scene.

A few minutes later, we were sitting in the large Jacuzzi bath. She leaned her back against one side and I leaned against the other. Our legs were overlapped, and I could feel her tense and release the muscles in her thighs. She had her eyes closed and was leaning her head back over the edge of the tub. She chuckled briefly, and it reminded me of the first time we met. Only then, it had been _her_ asking _me_ what the joke was.

"What's so funny?" I asked her, smiling to myself.

"I was just thinking that you could be one hell of a Dom if I can make you forget you're British . . ."

That earned her a full belly laugh. I thought through some of the people in my life. I was looking for someone, anyone, who made me feel things as intensely as she did. Happiness, contentment, pain, humour, fear, joy, arousal, frustration, even sadness. She brought _everything _out of me, in superlatives. No one else came to mind . . .

***

She was buttoning her suit coat as I snapped my watch around my wrist. I was trying to muster the courage to ask her before she left. My cowardly side would probably win and I'd end up leaving New York without seeing her again. Fuck it. Man up.

"Can I see you again?"

She turned toward me and smiled a genuine smile as she pulled her hair back and put it into some kind of twist at the nape of her neck.

"I'm sure you can, unless you go blind, of course."

God, she was such a smartass.

"I'm serious," I said moving toward her slowly. "I'm only here for another day or so, and then I may not be back for a few months. Are you free tomorrow?" She glared at me as I tentatively reached a hand out to touch her face. That was obviously not permitted outside of a 'scene.' I lowered my hand and stepped back, in mock resignation.

She paused, looking at me with harsh eyes. "Are you serious about having sex or are you serious about being a submissive?"

"Does it matter?" I asked, naively.

"Yes. It matters a great deal." She grabbed her heels from the closet and sat down on the dressing bench. "I have no problem with mild and casual scenes, that should be obvious. But, I haven't even begun to teach you anything physical." She sighed and regarded me critically. "You've picked up on the psychological aspects very quickly, and I could teach you so much if you were willing to move on to more intense scenes." She pause and looked at me pensively. "But I need to know what you really want."

"What if I just wanted to keep having sex with you?"

"Then we're finished. Don't get me wrong. It's been fun, but I'm a _Dom_. It's part of who I am." She quickly pulled her overcoat on and grabbed her handbag as she walked to the door. "If you want sex, even kinky sex, you can hire a hooker."

I couldn't let her leave like this. I had to make a decision. I closed my eyes tightly and took a deep breath, "And what if I want you to continue training me?"

She stopped, still facing the door and exhaled. I saw her square her shoulders. She spoke without turning. Her voice was cold. "Then be here, in this room, naked, and on your knees at noon tomorrow."

With that, she walked through the door. The quiet click of the lock echoed in my mind for hours.

***

I'd been awake since 4am. Those fucking morning show interviews. I dreaded this part of my job sometimes. Then, meeting after meeting, it seemed. I listened to my manager drone on. This meeting was taking _forever_. I wanted this role. I _really_ wanted this role. If I got this role, I would be in New York for eight straight weeks. _God._ Eight straight weeks of her. But I still fucking hated meetings.

It was already 11:30. If I didn't hurry, I was going to be late. I didn't want to be late. Especially not today. She might think I wasn't coming. I couldn't stand losing that chance.

"Rob," Nick called over my shoulder as I ran toward the elevator. "Wait up."

"I'm in a hurry, Nick. Can we talk later?"

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" He asked me in what he thought was a teasing, friendly manner. _Asshole._

"I have a lunch meeting with an old friend," I said casually. I burst out of the elevator on the ground floor, yelling back to him over my shoulder. "I'll meet you at the airport tomorrow."

I'd checked out of my hotel already, and my bags were waiting in the lobby of the Hotel on Rivington. I handed the bellman some cash and my room key, and told him to just put them in the closet of the room. I wasn't presumptuous enough to unpack them here. Just bringing them was ballsy, I'm sure, but I planned to stay here all night and go straight to the airport tomorrow. I wanted to spend every second I could with her. Apparently, I had gone completely insane. Not that it was a long trip, mind you.

Luckily, with fifteen minutes to spare. I slipped into the hotel bar. The lunch crowd hadn't come in yet so I discreetly ordered a couple of shots of whiskey and I was on my way. I had convinced myself that I wanted this, but a little liquid courage never hurt, right? _Fuck._

At 11:59, I was on my knees on the floor of the hotel room. I heard the lock on the door click and slide open, but I didn't lift my head to look at her. I wanted her to know that I was serious about this. I _was_ serious, _wasn't_ I?

I heard her set her bag down. "Get up on the bed, and put your back against the headboard."

I did as she instructed, and once I was settled, she pushed me forward a little and stacked some pillows behind me. I fell back into the softness and shifted my eyes to the side. I watched as she bound my wrists to the headboard with short leather straps, with buckles on them. They weren't terribly tight, but they were definitely restrictive.

"Comfortable?" She asked me. I didn't move. I had learned that lesson early. "You may nod." I nodded. "Good," she said quietly, as she slid a blindfold over my eyes.

I felt her hands on me, scraping her nails against my thighs and roughly gripping the muscles in my calves. "You like it rough, don't you? You may nod." I nodded. "You understand the fine line between pleasure and pain now, don't you?" I nodded.

By now, her mouth was at my ear. I felt the moist warmth of her breath across my neck, and shuddered. She whispered, "You get hard just thinking about me, don't you?" I nodded, and I _was_ hard. _Very_ fucking hard. Her fist wrapped around me and coated my cock with something slick. Lube, most likely. Then, I felt her wrapping something over my cock. It was tight, and pinched a little. I squirmed, but she didn't stop.

"It's a cock ring. It'll keep you nice and hard for me," she said, from farther away this time, a bit of humor in her voice. "I have to go back to work. I'll be back in a few hours." With that, I heard the door slam shut as the lock clicked back into place. Once again, that sound echoed in my mind.

I was naked, blindfolded, bound to a bed and hard as a rock. And she was gone.

It figures. The one time I can actually fucking remember the Safe word, and it doesn't fucking matter.

_Fuck. Me._


	4. The Longest Day

WARNING: This piece contains graphic scenes of a sexual nature. These include Dom/sub play, sexual acts with partners of the same gender and various forms of penetration. If this bothers you, please hit the back button located at the top left hand side of your screen. If you want to flame my writing, be my guest, but please don't flame the subject matter now that you have been warned. Thank you, and have a nice day.

DISCLAIMER: This is a complete work of fiction and is about my _fictionalized version_ of Rob. I don't know Rob, Stephanie Meyer or anyone associated with Twilight or Summit Entertainment. Actually, I don't know anyone important, at all. Therefore, no copyright infringement, or offense, is intended. Any offense is completely inadvertent and if offense is taken, I assure you I will be dealt with swiftly and soundly. I promise.

Author's Note: I know I take a long time to update and I apologize for that. I'm not going to say it will get much faster but this chapter was particularly difficult so it will probably get a little better from here out. But for your patience, I give you the longest chapter yet.

Again, I cannot say thank you enough to everyone who helped fix this hot mess of a chapter. Jen? You're my rock. Christina? Your thoughts are appreciated more than you can imagine. Monique? You make me look good and trust me, that's like a superpower bb, lol. Alice? You're still a dirty hoor. And I still love you. Nina? I'll thank you properly tomorrow bb.

Twilighted Beta: Ninapolitan. She is beyond fucking awesome and we should all worship her appropriately.

The Longest Day

There was absolutely no way I was going to survive four months without this. I wouldn't be back in New York until at least the end of May and that was if I got the part I was angling for. But I was fucking addicted to this woman: her body, her mind, her everything. For the past two months, nothing else -- and I mean nothing -- had aroused me. I don't think I could have gotten it up if Angelina Jolie gave me a lap dance. I kept thinking about that day in the hotel room. She just fucking left me there! I should have been pissed. I should have screamed and yelled and called her a crazy bitch, but I didn't. I didn't do anything like that. I stayed there and waited for her. And fuck me if it wasn't worth it.

***

I had no idea what fucking time it was. I feel asleep at one point. That's a nice circus trick when you have a raging hard on and are strapped to a bed wearing a cock ring. I ran through everything I could think of that might change my mind. I tried so fucking hard to convince myself I didn't want this. Nothing I came up with had any effect on my cock. It was still running the show and it voted to stay and wait for her. _Traitorous bastard._

I was half asleep when I heard her slip her key into the card reader. The click of the lock and the slight squeak of the door sounded like a freight train after several hours of solitude. I don't know what I expected her to do. In my fantasy world, I think I wanted her to come in and praise me for staying hard the whole fucking time. Then she'd take my cock in her mouth, deep throat me and let me fuck her like I was Ron Jeremy. I should have realized that she was never going to do anything I expected her to do. If I could get that through my thick fucking head, maybe I'd have been okay.

I heard her come over to the bed. I felt the mattress shift as she sat down on the edge. My mind was racing, but it had no direction. I heard a click and then I felt her fingers removing the blindfold. She slid it over my head and I squeezed my eyes shut before blinking to let them readjust. The lights were off in the room. That must have been the click I heard. There was a small bit of daylight streaming in through the drapes -- just enough to see her. She was in the same clothing she was in earlier: a suit and an overcoat. I noticed her more now, though. I suppose I wasn't anxious like I was earlier in the day. Her hair was pulled back into a twist at nape of her neck. Her make up was done perfectly, not too heavy but attractive. And fuck me if she wasn't wearing glasses. The cute little rectangle ones. These were green frames with some kind of sparkly shit on the sides. Every one of my naughty school marm fantasies rushed through my brain. Not that my cock needed any help. He'd been saluting her at full staff the whole time.

Needless to say, I wanted to fucking cum. Apparently, she had other ideas.

She looked at me and sighed. I smiled at her. Kind of like a kid smiles at their parents when they are looking for affirmation. _I'm such a pussy._ She reached over and unlatched the straps, and took both my wrists in her hands. She carefully turned my hands over a little, like she was checking to see if I had chafe marks anywhere. Seemingly satisfied I wasn't marked, she finally reached back and carefully slid the cock ring off. As much as I was hoping to be Ron Jeremy, sex god, and just fuck her in to oblivion, my cock collapsed. _I was fucking pathetic._ Now I couldn't even get it up.

She gave me a benevolent smile and touched her fingers to my cheek. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, drawing her scent completely through me. "Don't worry, that happens to everyone. Go into the bathroom and get cleaned up a little. Then come back here so we can talk."

Oh God. That phrase NEVER means anything good. EVER. I'm fairly certain that "We need to talk" is actually Latin for "the shit is about to hit the fan."

I got up slowly and stretched a bit. My muscles were tight from sitting in the same position for so long. I grabbed my jeans and walked into the bathroom. For the longest time I just leaned on the counter and stared into the mirror. _What the fuck was I doing?_ The physical stuff was no big deal; at least I tried to tell myself that. But I could tell that this was starting to affect me psychologically. I couldn't see it very clearly then, but this whole experience was going to change me in ways I never imagined.

***

So we sat there on the bed. I put my jeans on, but I didn't button them, and I stretched out on the bed on my side. I guess I thought I was trying to be sexy. _What the fuck was I thinking?_ She kept trying to convince me that this wasn't really what I wanted. How did she know what I really wanted? She didn't even know me. Well, I didn't really know her either I suppose, so maybe she was good at reading people. Maybe she was like a counselor or some shit like that. I actually asked her what she did for a living. I'm a complete moron sometimes. She looked at me like she wanted to rip my fucking head off.

I swear she growled at me. "What part of this don't you understand? You don't get to know anything about me just like I don't get to know anything about you. That shit only ruins things like this." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Against my better judgment, I'm willing to train you. But we're going to need more time than every few months. And God help me, if you ever ask me anything personal again I'm going to feed you your testicles before I throw you out the fucking window."

Did I mention she scares me a little? Okay. She scares me a lot. But _fuck_ if that shit didn't make me hard.

I tried to explain to her how tired I was of everyone telling me what I wanted and presuming they knew what was best for me. For the first time in a long time I wanted to decide something for myself. As sadistic as it may be, I wanted to do this. In my mind, this was a chance to control _something_ in my life. To feel like life wasn't passing me by in a fucking blur. She made comments about me being young and not fully understanding certain things. I was getting frustrated. I have no clue where the testicular fortitude came from, but I just screamed at her asking whether she was going to fucking train me or not. Fuck me if she didn't get a little smirk on her face when I did that.

Ironically, I got a call from Nick while we were still talking. She left the room as soon as I opened my phone. I kind of nodded at her to let her know she didn't have to leave and that I'd just be a minute and again she looked at me like I was an idiot. Ten minutes later, when she came back, I told her that we would have eight weeks this summer to really start my training. She didn't ask why I would be there and, wisely, I didn't offer. I wanted to tell her I got the part. But I didn't. That was probably one of the few smart decisions I made that day. I wanted to celebrate. As usual, she had other ideas. As luck would have it, though, my idea of celebrating and her idea of _not_ celebrating were strikingly similar.

***

She said she was happy that we'd have so much time this summer. She wasn't ecstatic, but she seemed pleased. She said that I needed to see for myself what really went on in a Dom/sub relationship. She said I needed to fully understand what I was asking of her. Thinking back to that night, I'm still a little unsettled. It wasn't so much disturbing as it was enlightening. It was certainly a night of firsts for me.

We were still talking, just kind of sitting on the bed. Almost like we were friends. It was a little weird, really. She was trying to describe the concept of "collaring" to me. She said there were different levels of collars. I wasn't sure I understood it all, but she kept going until there was a knock at the door. I snapped my head up. _Paranoid much? _We didn't order fucking room service, did we? Maybe she did while I was in the bathroom. I looked over at her and she had that smug look on her face again.

"That must be our guest." She said with some glee in her voice.

_GUEST?_ What the fuck? I was as nervous as a whore in church.

She went to the door and checked through the peephole. At least I'm not the only cautious one, right? Satisfied, she twisted the knob and opened the door, just enough for our "guest" to walk through. I blinked several times as a young woman walked through the door and into the middle of the room. Without a word, she pulled off her overcoat, her boots and her scarf. Black hair, olive skin, slim hips, a neck Audrey Hepburn would envy and lips that I couldn't take my eyes off of. She was beautiful. She quickly knelt down, tucking her chin to her chest; completely naked except for what looked to be a blue leather collar with metal rings hanging from it.

Her words were soft as she stroked the young girl's hair. "Such a beautiful pet," she cooed, looking over at me with an eyebrow raised. "Don't you agree?" I wasn't sure of my place in the scene, so I just tentatively nodded my head in agreement. The lump in my throat got bigger. I felt like I was trying to swallow a bowling ball. What was I so nervous about? She would take care of me. I trusted her, right? I could do this. I could do this.

"I'm so glad you could join us, my pet. You'll be most helpful in showing our young friend here what he can expect," she smirked again. "And what will be expected of him." She walked to the dresser and grabbed something, returning quickly to her "pet." "My sweet pet, please rise and see that our friend here is comfortable in preparation for his lesson." The young girl rose gracefully, taking the items from her mistress and walking toward me, still with her eyes downcast. _God_, she was beautiful. Striking, really. Exotic. She wasn't overly made up or anything, just naturally stunning. As she came closer, I saw that she had the leather straps in her hand. She wordlessly bound my legs to the chair at the ankles, forcing me to spread my thighs so they pressed tightly against the sides of the chair. I wiggled a little, sliding my jeans down below my hips. I suppose my modesty went out the fucking window that first night, right?

Watching her bind me was impossible to describe. I was anxious. I was nervous. I was scared. But most of all I was aroused. I felt the tightening in my belly and the traitor firmed up and peeked up over the waist of my button-flys. _Bastard_, comes back now instead of sticking around an hour ago.

I guess I was staring. It was kind of hard not to when a gorgeous, naked woman is tying you up. Her tiny hands carefully worked the buckle over my wrist, tightening it just to the point of discomfort. She leaned close enough that the smell of leather from her collar wafted over me. I caught her eyes as she stole a glance while moving over to secure my other wrist. They were dark. That's what I noticed first. Then I saw her eyes go wide. Just for a split second. _I knew that look._ It wasn't fear. Her eyes told me she recognized me. _Fuck. Me._

My mind started racing. What the fuck was I going to do? Was she going to tell anyone? Did she have a camera phone? Fuck. This could be bad. This could be _very_ bad.

A moment later she was finished tying me to the chair and she returned to the floor, kneeling, chin to her chest and hands folded in her lap. Despite the million and one frightening thoughts running through my brain, just looking at her in that position made me a little harder. I could be in a shit storm that could ruin my career and all my cock thought about is the way her silky black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and, fuck . . . I closed my eyes for a second and all I saw was a mug shot of Hugh Grant. _Oh God. _That made me nauseous.

Her Mistress' stern voice caught me off guard. "Open your eyes." I snapped my eyes open and looked right at her. She was pissed. She had popped the buttons on her suit jacket and it swung open as she stormed toward me. I could just the edge of her breasts. "If you can't focus when you're just watching," she barked as she grabbed the hair at the nape of my neck and jerked my head back, "how are you going to focus in a scene?" She asked me that as if I were really going to answer her. I may be a moron but I'm a moron who learns from his mistakes. I wasn't saying a fucking word. She leaned down very close to my face and I could feel the dampness in her breath as she spoke. Her words were biting but fucking sensual at the same time. "We'll deal with your inattentiveness later."

She scraped her nails across my chest as she stood back up. I could feel the welts forming already. Those would hurt for a while. _Good._

***

"Do you find her attractive?"

I just stared at her. That answer was easy but I still wasn't certain about my place in the scene. "You may nod." I nodded tentatively.

"She is quite beautiful," she said curtly. "She's also quite difficult to please." She looked at me, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. "Which is why I'm doing it, and not you." _Ouch. That's a nice slap to the ego._

"Save the pity party," she chortled, waving off my concern. "She's just very used to a certain level of intensity and intimacy. It's nothing against your equipment. Trust me." _Yeah. Like that's really going to make me feel better now._

"I suppose you could help me with her, though." My ears and everything else perked up at that thought. "You may stand, my pet." Once the sub was standing, her Mistress motioned toward me. "You know the rules. You have ninety seconds."

The sub walked over to me and looked down. She was tall. Tall enough that her chest was at my eye level. She looked very calm. Almost _too_ calm. I felt her palms on my chest before she slid them up, over my shoulders, and around my neck, finally gripping my jaw in her hands. I could feel the stubble on my chin prickling against her. She leaned down and brought her lips to mine. She was insistent. I guess a time constraint will do that. She forced my lips apart and pressed on. It was intense. I felt the smoothness of her tongue, but it was mismatched with the roughness of her hold on me. She sucked on my lips and then bit the lower one, letting it slide between her teeth before she backed away a little.

Leaning a little to the side, I felt her tongue scrape against my jaw line. I could feel her short, almost panicked breaths on my neck. They were humid and warm, but immediately cooled as the moisture evaporated. Maybe she wasn't quite as calm as I thought. Finally, she leaned in all the way and took my ear lobe between her teeth. It was heaven. I'd been taunted all fucking day with no physical contact. It may have been just a kiss, but at that point my whole body was aching not just for contact, but for some semblance of touch. It was glorious. The heat from her body, hovering so close, just barely touching me. I could smell something faint and floral mixed with a stronger, earthier scent. I was hard as fucking stone. My cock had stood up on his own and pushed my jeans down to make room. I leaned forward, pushing toward her, wanting more. Craving more. The warmth was pulling me to her like a divining rod to water. I lost myself in the sensation, but just as she was pulling away I heard a faint whisper. It took me a minute to register what she said. But as I watched her walk back to her Mistress and kneel again, it dawned on me. _"No one will know."_ Thank fucking God. My secret was safe.

***

I was about to explode. They were in a sixty-nine position on the bed. The sub was on the bottom with her feet pointed toward me. Her thighs were open. I couldn't move, I couldn't touch her, I couldn't touch myself. I could only watch. The only saving grace was that my jeans were low enough that I wasn't strangling my own cock. I was hard enough from watching them that I probably would have busted the zipper.

I was staring again. I was supposed to stare, though, right? I could see her running her fingers gently through the intricate folds of flesh. It almost looked like she was gliding through the petals of a mysterious flower. How had I never noticed the true beauty in the female anatomy? Okay, I noticed boobs and the other obvious things, but this was almost ethereal. I'm assuming I didn't notice because I'm a twenty-something male and we're inherently idiots. She was wet and swollen from kisses and manual manipulation. Unlike my Domme, this sub was bare. _Wait._ My Domme? Is that what she is? _Fuck._ I didn't want to think about that right now. Too many crazy things were running through my mind already.

Anyway, she was bare. I always wondered how they managed to wax _all_ of the hair down there. The women -- okay, _fuck that _-- the _girls_ I had been with had all been waxed. Were they afraid to have hair there? Were they afraid it would offend our gentile male sensibilities? That whole concept frustrated me a little bit. They were fucking around with the bold feminine beauty and the natural order of things. Now I _know_ I'm fucked up. I have a front row seat for live girl on girl action and I'm thinking of Darwin? Well, at least the distraction techniques she'd taught me seem to be working. Maybe a little _too_ well.

I tried to refocus and concentrate on what they were doing. I had a feeling there would be a quiz later. She leaned back over the sub and I watched as her firm, rosy tongue traced a random pattern over the maze of flesh. I knew the sub was returning the favor, but I didn't have a clear view of that. I could imagine that her tongue was darker, though. It probably matched the intimate skin I could see. It was an interesting contrast -- the pale pink tongue on the darker flesh. Her fingers carefully spread her open so we both could see better. I noticed that she carefully pulled the skin taut, making sure her nails didn't dig or mark her in any way. They both made this purring sound, like a thirsty kitten at a bowl of warm cream.

Finally, my Domme leaned up and looked at me with a little smirk. She closed her eyes and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. I knew that look. _God._ I loved that look. She held still, but I could see the skin on her belly quiver just a little. _Amazing._ Her orgasms never ceased to thrill me. I don't care how long I'd been fucking her or how long I'd been hard, when she came, it made me harder. I'd been in this position so long, I was starting to tense up. My legs would hurt tomorrow. I'd be lucky if that was the only thing.

I watched as she slowly opened her eyes and gave me a sweet, genuine smile. It was her happy face. I didn't see it very often, but it was beautiful.

She spoke softly as I watched her come down. "Did you know that the Taoists call the act of sex 'the battle of stealing and strengthening?'"

With that, she leaned back down, whispering again as she slid her fingers inside. "You may cum when you're ready, my sweet pet." And she did. She was writhing now. Arching her back and fisting the sheets like her life depended on it. Just like my Domme, she was beautiful when she came.

***

The sub was gone. As my Domme was untying me, she again questioned whether I really wanted to "train" with her. Frustrated, I told her in no uncertain terms that I was serious. I sounded convincing in my own mind. My tone was clipped, harsh and firm.

"Fine, then," she said, raising an eyebrow at me. "I'll ignore your tone just now, but we still have the matter of your earlier inattentiveness to deal with."

_Oh. Fuck._

"Remove your jeans and get on the bed, on your hands and knees."

My heart was racing. What was she going to do to me? I hadn't really thought about any "official" punishment. She'd slapped me a few times. She yelled at me _a lot_. But that was nothing I would really consider "punishment." _Fuck_. I did as she said and held my breath, waiting for her to do something. I didn't have to wait long.

I felt her palms on my ass. She smoothed her hands over me and I felt her nails scrape very lightly across my skin.

"You will count the number of strikes I give you. Out loud. To 10." Oh Shit. This wasn't nearly as kinky as some shit we'd done, but I was still a little freaked out. I held my breath and waited for the first swing. _Smack_. _Damn. That stung_. "One," I grit out softly. Another smack. "Two." The next few moved around a bit. "Five." "Six." I could feel the skin warming as the blood flowed faster. "Eight." "Nine." The last one fell right in the middle. I felt her hand linger and slide down over my flesh. Why did that feel so good? Was it supposed to feel good? Fuck. What did I know? I was probably just a deviant bastard. She kept rubbing my skin, smoothing away the sting and arousing me at the same time.

"Have you ever heard of Rousseau?" Her voice had changed. It was no longer hard and crass -- it was soft and lilting again. Inquisitive. "You may speak."

I held still. She still had her hands on me. It was fucking amazing, and she was only touching me. "The philosopher?" I asked. Maybe I had just been on the edge of it all day long, but I think even Queen Elizabeth could have gotten me up at that point. I didn't care. The traitor was back. And he was ready for war.

"Yes. The philosopher."

I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of her hands on me. My head fell down and I tried to relax my shoulders, fighting the urge to press back into her caresses. I dug into the corners of my brain. "Moral education, natural man, society is evil for forcing us into slavery. That Rousseau? As in Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau?"

"Yes, that Rousseau," she chuckled, still keeping her hands on me. "Very good. Although he's rolling over in his grave because you mentioned him in the same breath as Hobbes. They hated each other."

I added political philosophy to the list of things about her that fascinated me.

"Rousseau was actually very Avant-garde, sexually speaking. Especially for his day." Her touches had become lighter. Now I could barely feel her fingertips ghosting over my skin. "Before I leave, I will assign you one of his titles. You will read it before we meet again." She moved her hands up my spine, pressing lightly into each vertebra as she went along. "Lie down on your stomach."

I did as I was told. She pulled her hands away for just for a second and when she brought them back I felt a warming sensation where her fingers were touching me. Her touches stiffened and her hands pressed more firmly into my shoulders, massaging them. Just as I relaxed and fell deeper into the moment, she had me roll over. I felt the remnants of the oil on her hands as she brushed them across my chest. The slick feeling was a stark contrast to the coarse hair bristling under her touch and the tight skin of my nipples as she slid her nails across them. I was losing myself in the sensations when she started questioning me about the scene with the sub. _What did I think the scene was about?_ Hell, I didn't know. I just know it was hot. She laughed lightly, but continued to question me. Was it about her control over the sub? Was it merely about pleasure? Was it about educating me? What did I think its purpose was? I finally had to tell her that I honestly had no idea.

Once more she questioned whether I was ready to be trained; to learn from her. I quietly responded that I wanted that more than anything. And I did. Before I met her, sex was just a means to get off. It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't intense. It wasn't intellectually stimulating. She said she finally believed me and, because of that, she was offering me something. It wasn't a commitment, per se -- it was merely meant to symbolize a kind of mutual agreement. She said the official name was a "collar of consideration." It was technically the first step in a Domme/sub relationship; a necklace -- well, basically a leather cord with a ring on it. She explained that it held no repercussions and was merely a symbol of a fledgling relationship. She pointed out the engraving on the ring. It said _Ego mos pareo_. My Latin was rusty, but she translated softly as she latched it around my neck, "_I will obey._"

I couldn't help myself. I dug my fingers into her hair, gripping her head so she couldn't get away. Pulling her roughly to me, I forced her lips apart and kissed her with everything I had. This woman was the center of my psyche now. She didn't realize how completely she controlled me already. Mind and body. As I bit her lips and pulled her tongue into my mouth, she slid her thigh over my chest and straddled me. I reverently took hold of her hips, dragging my hands down the back of her thighs, trying to pull her closer. As I did, she leaned down and whispered in my ear. "This is your last orgasm until you see me again. You better make it count."

I can't fucking describe it. It was something completely different. I won't be cliché and say 'I saw stars' or some shit like that. But I very well may have passed out when I came. I have no fucking clue how I kept going but we managed to get through several positions before I felt the burning in my gut. The feeling rumbled up from the my thighs as I pounded into her from behind.

She knew I was close. How did she always fucking know? She made me stop and she flipped over on her back with a smirk on her face. Crooking her finger, she told me to move up her body. Just those small movements, crawling over her, I felt my orgasm continue to build. There was a tightness in my chest and I felt it spreading outward in all directions. There was a buzzing in the room but I couldn't figure out what it was. I could smell her. I could smell _us_.

She told me to grab the headboard just as she took my cock in her mouth. _Oh God._ The thought of her tasting herself just fucking made me harder. She pulled on my hips, telling me what she wanted. I didn't want to be inconsiderate but it felt too fucking good. All of senses magnified and bombarded me with different sensations all at once. I could taste the tension in the air.

I thrust my hips faster, harder, I knew she could take it; I knew she _would_ take it. And she did. And when I came I swear to God I felt like she sucked every drop of life right out of my body. I was so completely spent I just leaned over, collapsing at her side. The last thing I remember before I fell asleep was her kiss and tasting the essence of the entire day, all at the same time.

***

Now I was sitting on the plane to Vancouver. I was exhausted both mentally and physically. Just keeping up with her, intellectually, was going to kill me. Thinking about that, I pulled out the Rousseau book she had put on my "reading list", as she called it. I had homework to do before we met again. A laundry list of books to read. First up was _Confessions of J.J. Rousseau. _It fell open and I skimmed a page.

_"... Miss Lambercier... exerted a mother's authority, even to inflicting on us... the punishment of infants... Who would believe this childish discipline, received at eight years old, from the hands of a woman of thirty, should influence my propensities, my desires, my passions, for the rest of my life... To fall at the feet of an imperious mistress, obey her mandates, or implore pardon, were for me the most exquisite enjoyments, and the more my blood was inflamed by the efforts of a lively imagination the more I acquired the appearance of a whining lover."_

I smiled softly and closed my eyes, praying I could survive the next few months.


	5. Tea and Sympathy

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm going to ask that you actually read the warnings, disclaimers et al. below the author's notes. Even if it's just this once. Thanks.

I still know I take a long time to update and I'm still apologizing for that. On the upside, this chapter is even longer than last one. (that's what she said) Some cohorts of mine who help with the proofing process said I'm allowed to use the phrase "Genius Takes Time." Then again, most of them are e-mailing me from the nuthouse, so we'll just ignore them. Considering real life etc etc, I promise I'm going as fast as I can. To all of the people that take time out of their busy lives to read this stuff, I really appreciate that. It really means a lot that you spend your valuable time reading this. I have say though, I have the best freakin' reviewers in the fucking fandom. You all astound me with your passion for this topic and this piece. I'm trying to work my way through and respond to everyone but that, too, will take time. In the interim, just know that I am honored that you spend your time with these characters.

You all cannot imagine the myriad of eyes I push this under before it gets to you. I'm sure they hate me sometimes (especially after I've agonized over the same freakin' word for two hours). Jennifer is my muse. She keeps me honest even when I don't want to be. Christina, Lauren and Alice? You all are still dirty hoors and I still love you. Monique? There are not enough words to thank you for being the best and most efficient editor in the fucking world. She is a living breathing grammar lesson. She is writing a story called _Tangled _that is sweet and funny and sincere. It is on both fanfiction(.)net [http://www(.)fanfiction(.)net/s/5072351/1/Tangled] and on Twilighted(.)net [http://www.()twilighted(.)net/viewstory(.)php?sid=6777]. Check it out for something much lighter than mind fuck that I feed you :)

Last but not least: My Twilighted Beta Ninapolitan. I have to tell you all, I had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Nina in person at TwiCon. She is amazing in every sense of the word. She has the insane ability to make you feel like you've known her for years. She tells it like it is and she makes you love her for it. As you should.

New Feature as of this week: According to GDocs, the "Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level for this chapter is 3. That is supposed to be indicative of the appropriate grade reading level for the text. Yeah. This is suitable for third graders. *snort* I'm going to include the Flesch-Kincaid score for each chapter from now on. Because if you really think about, that shit is funny.

CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains graphic scenes of a sexual nature. These include Dom/sub play, sexual acts with partners of the same gender and various forms of penetration. If this bothers you, please hit the back button located at the top left hand side of your screen. If you want to flame my writing, be my guest, I love constructive criticism, but please don't flame the subject matter now that you have been warned. Thank you, and have a nice day.

DISCLAIMER: This is a complete work of fiction and is about my _fictionalized version_ of Rob. I don't know Rob, Stephanie Meyer or anyone associated with Twilight or Summit Entertainment. Actually, I don't know anyone important, at all. Therefore, no copyright infringement, or offense, is intended. Any offense is completely inadvertent and if offense is taken, I assure you I will be dealt with swiftly and soundly. I promise.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: The names Robert Pattinson, Nick Frenkel, Nikki Reed and Kellan Lutz are owned by their real life counterparts. They are used here only for entertainment purposes and no disparagement is intended. The plot, characterizations and text of this piece are owned and copyrighted © 2009 by SinandShame. Any infringement will be prosecuted to the full extent of applicable law. That is my formal notice. On a more casual note, I'm actually an attorney. I wouldn't advise stealing my stuff. End of statement.

Now, on with the show. . .

Chapter 5

**Tea and Sympathy**

It was my security blanket these days. Whenever I felt like I was losing my sanity, I would rub the ring between my fingers. If I wasn't wearing it, it was in my pocket. It calmed me and reminded me that there were things I could control. Amazing things. It reminded me of her.

Everyone wanted something from me. They all wanted me to do something for them, or _to_ them. It was inevitable. No matter how much I wanted to trust them, it always came back to bite me in the ass. I almost felt more kindred to the crazy ass fans that stalked me than I did to those who were "in the circle." At least the fans weren't lying to me.

I heard the lamp crash against the wall, but neither the act nor the sound registered. I picked up the vase on the dresser and reared back to smash it as well. It was heavy. Heavier than the lamp, I think. It weighed my arm down to the point where it was difficult to lift it to shoulder height. _What the fuck was I doing? _I dropped the vase and watched as it thudded on the thick carpet and rolled away from me. Everything came out at that moment. All the frustration, all the fear, all the anguish that I felt, welled up into one enormous balloon in my chest. I couldn't hold it in any longer. Emotionally, I burst at the seams. I closed my eyes and slid down the wall, my knees creaking under physical strain and my soul choking on the psychological pressure. I heard the sobs, but I couldn't feel them. I couldn't feel anything. I brought my hand to cover my mouth, trying to dampen the bitter sounds. It didn't work, so I bit the back of my hand as hard as I could. The scream changed and I felt the skin break a little and tasted the copper as it dripped into my mouth. The pain didn't make it better, but it made it different. For the first time in my life, I lay down and cried myself to sleep.

Turns out I was sick. Physically sick. Like . . . sick with the flu. As in fever, vomiting, delirium, the whole lot of it. It didn't help that I was wound tighter than a fucking drum. I didn't know if it was the press, filming, lack of sleep or lack or sex that was devouring me from the inside, but something had to give. The studio had even sent a nurse out to tend to me. She hooked me up to an IV with fluids, gave me some drugs and tried to feed me. She also helped me take a shower. Yes. I really _was_ that weak. She had housekeeping come in and clean the room a bit as well. It was pretty foul, even by my standards. She finally left and now I was tucked in bed with clean sheets and a night light. All I needed now was a fucking teddy bear to complete the picture.

I tried to sleep, but my brain was running a million miles a minute. It was like a year's worth of experiences were flying across my eyes, showing me how fucked up my life was. How the fuck did I end up here? Wanting to act and wanting to be chased down like a fox in a hunt were two very different things. Pictures from my life before this shit happened came back, too. Sitting on the roof of our flat in London, drinking and playing music. Laughing. Chasing girls around. Avoiding growing up. It was all supposed to be fun. And now? Now it's not fun anymore. I guess I deserved this, though. _Yin and Yang._ For every karmic deposit, there is a big ass withdrawal right behind it. I finally fell asleep.

***

_I don't think I'd ever seen her asleep before. She always left me after we were "finished." She looked so peaceful. There was an innocence there that had not appeared before. Lying on her side, facing me, with her hands curled sweetly under her chin. Hair was sprawled over the linens, covering her pillow entirely. The shiny red of her hair was a sharp contrast to the pale yellow of the sheets and the faint tawny color of her skin. I carefully drew my index finger down the length of her arm, following the curve at her elbow and lazily slipping up to her shoulder. Her skin had a sheen to it that called to me. It was smooth, soft and dewy. There was just a hint of friction below my fingertip, the barest __sense__ of perspiration clinging to her. Her breasts lay softly underneath her arms, the swell peeking shyly into the coolness of the room. I couldn't help it. Ever so gently, I traced a circle around her nipple. It responded to me in kind, pursing tightly unto itself. This woman amazed me. The things she had given me with her body, with her mind, with her spirit. There was no way for me to repay her. I would try, though, in the only ways I knew how. _

_With that, I leaned down and softly nudged her elbow with my lips. I inhaled and took in the scent of her shampoo and our earlier session. I was part of her scent now, as though I had marked her like an animal. I could almost taste the tension she had built in me earlier. It flooded my senses again and immediately aroused me. I watched as she stirred a little, dropping her hands to her sides and stretching her neck as though she were a cat waking from a warm afternoon nap. She was stunning. Without permission or thought of repercussion, I leaned down and traced the contour of her mouth with my tongue. I nipped playfully until she smiled enough that her lips parted. Her breath was warm and sweet. It reminded me of a pleasantly humid morning in London. Ever so gently, I pushed against her, lazily dragging my lips across her mouth, over her chin and down her slim neck. Little by little, she came closer to consciousness. More responsive. More encouraging. More of a participant. Finally, without opening her eyes, she tugged on my shoulders and directed me closer, until my hips settled snugly between her thighs. She was as aroused as I was. Without preamble, I slipped inside her body. Our movements were fluid and lazy. This was everything wonderful about making love and having sex and worshiping at the altar of Venus, all rolled into one perfect moment. She willingly put her arms around me, pulling me closer, more intimate than ever before. More sincere. More devoted. I felt cherished. I felt, dare I think it, loved. That made waking up from such a dream even harsher._

Lying in my bed that night, I felt like someone had just run over my dog. There was a pit in my belly that was filling with despair. What the fuck was happening to me? We filmed the forest scene that day, where Edward leaves Bella. Is it ironic or pathetic that until that moment, I hadn't grasped the concept of caring about someone enough to let them go? Method acting, my arse. I started to blame this on her. It was her fault for dragging me into this. It was her fault for not being there. If she'd forget about this _anonymous rubbish_, we could just be together and everything would be fine. Who was I kidding? I knew the rules and I still begged her to do this shit. I was a selfish bastard, wallowing in self loathing and imagining her "making it all better." So I needed to figure out if the problem was me, or . . . me. _Fuck._

***

I'd stopped drinking for the most part. For someone who was likely borderline depressive, alcohol seemed like a bad idea. But when Kristen found out she got the part in _The Runaways_, she insisted we all go out to celebrate. Bad idea. From beginning to end. Bad idea.

Nikki swiped my card and then held the door while Kellen shoved me into the suite. I was drunk. Cross that out. I was properly pissed. After being sick for days and crazy for months, this felt odd. As soon as I'd started whining at the bar, Kellen grabbed me and said it was time to go. I love him a little bit for saving me the embarrassment that surely would have followed another hour in the bar. They yanked my coat off, sat me on the bed and worked at taking my shoes off. I fell back on the bed, but my mind was not in the mood to sleep. Sadly, I wasn't pissed enough to pass out. I was, however, drunk enough to be horny.

I hadn't been hard in weeks. I don't know if it was the fear of her finding out I'd disobeyed her or if it was just that nothing around me was fucking arousing, no pun intended. When I woke up with a damn hangover and morning wood, I knew something was wrong. How long can a guy go without even getting it up? Is it a use or lose it proposition? God, I hope not. I was still wearing my denims and they were not comfortable at the moment. For some dumb fucking reason, I'd gone commando last night and now I could feel the abrasive fabric chafing my old friend. _Fuck._ Doing my best to avoid moving my head, lest I change the orientation of the world's axis, or perhaps vomit, I carefully unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down a little. _Ah. That's better._ I closed my eyes and contemplated going back to sleep but the fucking movie of my life was back, only now we were finally getting to the good parts. She was there. She was on her knees with my cock in her mouth, looking up at me with those eyes that just made me lose my fucking mind every fucking time. Before I imagined her taking me all the way in and flexing her throat around the head, I was palming myself. Fuck. I wasn't supposed to do this. She ordered me not to cum. Damn. Picturing her sucking me like a lolly, swirling her tongue around the head and dragging her fingers over my balls . . . What the fuck was I supposed to do? I did what any red blooded male would do. I licked my hand a few times and started wanking like I was on a mission.

Maybe it was my habit of disconnecting the physical from the psychological, maybe it was my fear that I was blatantly disobeying her, or maybe my body was just pissed off. Whatever it was, I was still wanking ten minutes later. I was slicked up, hard as a rock and giving it my all. The problem was that I couldn't see the edge. A small part of me wanted to cry. A slightly larger part of me wanted to break something.

***

I had no idea if this was going to work or not. Or if this was a good idea or not. I had to do something, though. I was desperate in every sense of the word. I punched in the letters and as I'd done many times before, and hit the send button before I could change my mind. "Please help." _It was only two words, but I hope to God she understood what I needed. Because I sure fucking didn't._

A few minutes later, I'd almost drifted off when my phone buzzed. I hit the button but didn't even get a chance to say anything.

"What's wrong?"

Was that really her voice? Was I imagining it? I had to be imagining it. Would she really call me?

"Is it really you?" My words were hoarse from frustration.

"Yes. Of course. What's wrong? Are you ill?" She sounded a little irritated. I looked for a clock and saw that it was midnight here which meant it was, what, 3 a.m. there? Fuck.

"Um. Yeah, I have been sick, but that's not why I . . . "

"Are you okay?" Her voice softened considerably. That was a good sign, right?

"I'm fine, I guess." I didn't know what to say now that I was actually talking to her. "I just feel like I'm, like I'm, fuck," I groaned. "I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind. I need your help."

"Alright," she soothed. "What is it you feel you need?"

I laughed coldly. "Well I need to have a fucking orgasm for one thing. I'm about to fucking explode and I can't even make myself cum."

"You've been masturbating?" Her words were darker now, letting me know she was displeased.

The shame floated up the surface. My emotions, already fragile, threatened to burst out of me. "Yes, mistress," I whispered. "I'm sorry if I've displeased you."

"But you said you haven't orgasmed, correct?"

"Um, no," I said quietly. Honesty without modesty, right? "I just can't find anything that stimulates me enough to, uh, get me there."

"Then you haven't displeased me at all."

What the fuck? I didn't know what to say.

"Do you recall what I told you during our last session?"

"Yes. You said that was my last orgasm until," and then it clicked. "But I wanted to orgasm, mistress. I _intended_ to orgasm." I was half-heartedly pleading with her to find me in contempt of her wishes. Maybe that's what I wanted.

"My young pet, you have so much to learn. Not the least of which, is that my directions should be taken literally. I specifically told you not to orgasm but I said nothing that precludes you from masturbating."

"But, what about . . ." I was at a loss.

"No 'buts.' You have done nothing wrong in my eyes."

I closed my eyes and sighed. Why did that give me such a great sense of relief?

"Now, on to the more pressing matters. Why is it you feel the need to masturbate?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about you."

"I'm going to say this, with the caveat that I am neither encouraging you or discouraging you from anything outside of our time together. You are free to engage in sexual activity with other individuals. The only restriction is that you not orgasm." I heard her sigh. "This arrangement is far from ideal. There should not be so much time between sessions in your training. It can be detrimental in many ways."

"No shit."

"I don't appreciate your tone. Just because we are speaking freely does not give you license to be disrespectful."

Fuck. I'm a fucking moron. "Sorry, mistress."

"I know you are. Otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to this whole thing in the first place." I heard her rummaging around with something and then her voice came back smooth and soft. "Let's take care of the immediate issue first. Are you alone?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Are you in a place where you can be free from distraction and interruptions?"

I looked around the prison of my hotel room and chuckled to myself. "Yes, mistress."

"Are you wearing your collar?"

I brought my fingers to the ring lying just under the fabric of my shirt. I slipped it out and rubbed the metal against my hand. "Yes, mistress," I said almost reverently.

"Good." I swear I heard her smile. "Do you have access to a chair of some sort?"

I looked around the room, actually taking in the furniture for the first time. "Yes. I have a large padded chair and more of a desk or dining table type chair as well."

"Wonderful. Remove your clothing and go kneel on the padded one, facing the back of the chair. Once you are positioned, put the phone on speaker and lay it across the top of the chair."

I climbed out of the bed and pulled off my t-shirt and jeans as I walked over to the chair. I consciously noticed that my breathing had evened out and my anxiety level had dropped significantly. I couldn't decide if that was good or bad at this point.

Once I was kneeling on the chair, I hit the speaker button and put the phone down. Instinctively, I closed my eyes and put my chin to my chest. I felt relaxed for the first time in weeks, but I would worry about that later.

I heard her voice flow brightly over through the speaker. "As a matter of procedure, while on the telephone, you are to respond verbally to my questions in the simplest manner possible. Do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress."

"I'm going to direct you as succinctly as possible but some generalizations will be unavoidable."

"Yes, mistress."

"As a matter of preference, should I use clinical terms or colloquialisms?"

"Pardon?"

"Anatomically speaking. Would you prefer clinical terms or shall I use colloquialisms – slang, if you will."

"Uh," I stuttered. I hadn't thought about that. "I supposed slang is fine. Unless you prefer . . ."

"This isn't about me," she said with a mildly patronizing tone. "This is about _your_ preference. Your needs first, remember?"

I swear her words were more comforting than a cup of tea in my childhood bedroom. I felt the calm, sincere timbre of her voice flow through me. It pushed through my limbs and into my hands and feet. It gave me strength. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Slang, then."

"Very well," she responded, reassuring me it was my choice. "Now, are you clean shaven or do you have some beard growth right now?"

Huh? Even for her, that seemed like an odd question. "Uh, I haven't shaved since yesterday, I think."

"Good. I want you to rub both of your hands over your face and your neck, directly over your beard. Use enough pressure that it is almost uncomfortable.

I briefly considered asking myself why she would tell me to do this and then I realized I needed to let go. I trusted her to know exactly what I need. She had already calmed me more than I had been in weeks and I knew she would get me through this.

I brought my hands up to my face and roughly dragged them down over my neck. The short, coarse whiskers bristled against my calloused palms. There was a prickling feeling radiating into my hands, my wrists, and slowly crawling up my arms. I grabbed my skin a little harder, digging, getting rougher as I went along.

"How does that feel?"

I closed my eyes tighter and gave in to the sensation. "Brilliant," I whispered.

"Now, drag your hands down your chest, and run your palms over your nipples."

My hands fell down my chest and I increased the pressure over my pecs and on to my nipples. There was a sharp contrast between the two. Where my beard was crisp and spiny, my chest hair was wiry and soft. As I touched my tightened nipples, I felt the smoothness of the skin and the firmness of the peaks. I could imagine it was her fingers running over my skin, pulling her nails across my chest. My eyes were closed and I could smell the cleaner they had in the room earlier. It reminded me of the fresh rooms where we always met. Newly tidied and scrubbed. Prepared just for our clandestine liaisons. The scent filled my brain and the image of her in my mind became clearer.

"Scratch your nails across your nipples, using just a bit of pressure."

I did as she asked and heard myself moan at the sensation. I could imagine it was her nails cutting into my skin. I could imagine it was her hands moving over me.

The tone of her voice lowered. It was now warm and sultry. "Is your cock getting hard, my sweet pet?"

_Was the Pope Catholic?_ "Yes, mistress."

"Good," she whispered. "Now, gently move your hands lower. Drag your hand over your abdomen and the area just above your cock, but don't touch it yet. There are muscles in that area just above that have great sensitivity and can heighten your arousal.

I was softly running my fingers over my stomach, pressing the heels of my hands into my hip bones. The nerve endings in my belly lit up like an oil lamp. They were hot and bright, tingling with sensation. I could imagine her lying on top of me, her weight pressing down on to me. I could imagine the smell of her arousal surrounding me. The warm fragrance slipping over my skin, coating me. Binding me to her. I flexed my hips into the back of the chair. The tight suede fabric of the chair caressed me and I could almost feel her, the crushed velvet of her pussy tightening around me.

Her voice brought me out of my reverie, but I was harder than ever. "I want you to start fondling yourself. And leave no stone unturned, as it were."

Did she just make a joke? I couldn't help it. I laughed. I was nervous at her reaction but then I heard her snicker as well. I could definitely hear the smile in her voice at that point.

Her voice got a little teasing. "You can laugh, you know. This is supposed to be fun." Her words were calm and affectionate. "You're supposed to enjoy this."

By this time I was reaching for my cock. My chuckle changed to a groan as soon as I grazed it with my fingertips. I was painfully hard. I looked down and saw the deep color in the head, full of life and blood and pain and pleasure. All at the same time. I gently wrapped my hand around it, pressing firmly with my palm. There were ridges but they were like folded silk. I could tug a little and they smoothed out. It was heavy and firm, but the skin was so soft. I couldn't remember ever noticing how it felt before. The texture of it was fascinating.

She started seducing me with her words. "How does that feel?"

"Fucking awesome."

"As good as being inside of me?" She feigned offense.

_Oh fuck._ My mind flashed to an image of me hovering above her, watching as I pushed into her body and seeing her face as I gave her everything I could. This was good, but it didn't compare. "Not a fucking chance."

She laughed softly. "Just imagine that you are inside me. That I'm pulling you in deeper, tightening around you."

"Oh fuck. I can picture it now."

She started taunting me. "What position are we in?"

I groaned and gripped myself harder. "You're on your knees and I'm taking you from behind." _Hey, it's my fantasy, right?_

"You're taking me, are you?" She teased.

I was approaching the crest. The point of no return. That moment when what I was doing and what I was saying become afterthoughts – subordinate to the sensations rippling through my body. The imagery pinned to my brain at the moment was, in fact, me taking her. _Violently._

"Yes. I'm taking you. Hard."

"I can imagine you slamming your cock into me, over and over. Am I enjoying it?" She breathed on a whisper.

My mind heard her screaming as I battered her body, pulling her hips flush with my thighs. I pictured the muscles in her back flexing as she held herself up on her forearms, her shoulders straining to maintain her balance. My body tightened up. I felt the pressure in my thighs and the heat pushed into my chest. I tried to pull back, to make this last. I dragged my lower lip between my teeth and bit down. The pain distracted me just enough that I felt myself crawling back from the edge. "Yes, mistress," I said hoarsely. "You are enjoying it."

"You do know how to pleasure me my sweet pet," she said darkly.

"Mistress?" I was holding my cock firmly, suspending the inevitable. Both fists wrapped around it like a vice.

"Yes, my pet?" The angelic tone in her voice did nothing to detract from the intense eroticism of the moment.

"May I, uh . . ." I slid one of my hands down and gripped my balls, pulling them, stretching them away from my body. Anything to calm the rush of adrenaline my impending orgasm brought with it.

"May you what, my pet?"

_Fuck it_. "Mistress, may I cum?" I pushed down further, pressing into the sensitive skin behind my balls.

"Yes, my pet," she whispered gently. "You may cum." And there it was. The flash of lightning, the crash of thunder. And then, nothing. Silence. Stillness. Relief. Slowly I opened my eyes. The soft lighting in the room gave me a chance to refocus. I looked around and saw that nothing from my imagination was still there. Disappointed but still elated from the high of my release, I let out the breath I'd been holding for what seemed like weeks.

"Better?" She asked softly.

"Much better." I sighed contentedly. "Thank you, mistress."

A calm feeling washed over me. It was like a soft breeze that stopped time and space. It surrounded me and drew the weight of the world from shoulders, lifting me up and opening my eyes to the sun.

***

"I need you to understand something about all of this."

"What?"

"You're taking this too seriously. This is supposed to be fun. It's not something that is supposed to consume you every minute of every day."

"But I don't think . . ."

"You send _me_ a plea for help in the middle of the night. Me. Not someone who is in close proximity to you physically or otherwise. You sent it to _me_."

"Because you're the only one that I . . ."

"That you thought could help. That's because this is controlling you. You're missing the point of this. It's about relinquishing control on your own terms. For your own benefit. It's not about transferring control issues from one thing to another."

I sighed. She was right. But fuck it, she was always right. "Maybe she was a shrink," I thought, laughing. I was letting my obsessive personality control me. I was digging a hole and tossing all of my control issues and feelings of inadequacy into it and jumping in after them, then screaming at her to throw me a rope. "So what do I do now?"

"You need to stop worrying about _this_ and worry about whatever it is you have going on in your real life that needs your attention."

_Real life?_ "But I still need . . ."

"Trust me; I know exactly what you need." I heard her pause and take a deep breath. "Five a.m. my time. Every day, I want you to call me at this number. We'll have a mini session on the telephone. I expect they will each last around an hour."

"Five a.m.?" I burst out, shocked. "But that's . . ."

"Stop. I don't want to know what time it will be where you are. I don't care what time zone you're in. Just call me at 5 a.m. my time."

I thought about our filming schedule. 2 a.m. There's a good chance I would still be on set at that time some nights. "What if I am not in a place where I can call you at that time?" The thought of missing a session gave me chills. But I also got chills thinking about the fact that she was willing to give me an hour of her time _every_ day.

"Send me a text at least one hour before to let me know you are not available."

"Will you be . . . ?"

"As long as you've sent me a text in time, there will be no repercussions."

How did she always fucking know what I was going to say?

"Do you have access to a computer on a regular basis?"

"Yeah."

"Pardon me?"

I cringed. I'm a dumb ass. "Yes, mistress."

"Good. I want you to set up a gmail account with your ID number as the address. It will be used only for communication between you and I. Do not put a signature on it. Do not put your name or anything other than your ID number anywhere where it could be visible to those communicating with you."

"Yes, mistress."

"Wonderful. You have twenty-four hours to set up the account. At that time I will e-mail you a list of items you need to acquire. The items are not generally expensive, but if purchasing them would be an issue for you, advise me and perhaps we can find an alternative."

She wanted me to buy sex toys? _Fuck._ Those will be great going through airport security. As twitchy as the thought made me, there were other twitches that weren't bad. I responded quietly to her, "Purchasing them will not be a problem, mistress."

"Very good. Considering the situation, I am amending my instruction from our last physical session. You are no longer _forbidden_," she paused, "from having an orgasm. It is, however, _discouraged_. Our first goal in the telephone sessions will be to teach you to masturbate and orgasm without ejaculating."

"Uh. . ." I know I sounded like an idiot but I had no clue what the fuck she was talking about.

"It is a an ancient Taoist practice," she said in her best _training_ tone. It was a tone I liked. It was encouraging but enticing at the same time. "It is likely a derivation or a modification of a Tantra technique. It involves teaching the body to release an orgasm while suppressing the release of semen."

"Okay," I replied with a touch of skepticism.

"I encourage you to find some information online. It would be helpful if you had a basic working knowledge before we begin."

"Yes, Mistress."

"There are many things that I would like to teach you," she said softly. "And you have my word that they are all pleasurable."

I had no doubt in my mind that she was telling the truth. Her actions had more than earned my trust. I realized that although I had not always proven my worthiness, she trusted me with equal fervor.

"Mistress, if I may?"

"Yes, you may."

"Thank you. Just . . . thank you."

I felt the pause more than heard it before she quietly responded. "You are welcome."

She continued talking to me well into the night. There was something so soothing about hearing her voice. It was more than just the sexual aspect of it. It was just, I don't know, comforting. Maybe it was just nice to feel like somebody gave a damn about what happened to me. That was the first decent night's sleep I'd had since leaving New York.

Next up? A smiling Rob in Cannes. . .


	6. The Odyssey

Author's Notes:

This will be quick and dirty so we can get to the good stuff, alright?

THE FANDOM GIVES BACK CHARITY DRIVE STARTS NOVEMBER 15th!

Ninapolitan and Tby789 are awesome, childhood cancer is not. We want to help. The fundraiser will run November 15-20 (New Moon Week - WOOT!) There is an unbelievable amount of stuff up for auction/sale. Look around, I'm sure you'll find something that floats your boat. www(.)thefandomgivesback(.)com. Everything benefits Alex's Lemonade Stand. If you've never heard of this charity, you should buy something just to make up for the fact that you kind of live under a rock.

If my stuff kinda does it for you? Here's what I'm putting out there:

1. A One Shot Written Just For You! (will go to the highest bidder)  
Minimum donation **$25 **- minimum story length, 2500 words  
Canon, non-canon or RL fic of your choice. (The only restriction on RL fic is that it cannot involve Kristen Stewart)  
Any rating, any pairing (even slash). You may pick the scenario with as much or as little detail as you want, or just tell me who and turn me loose. Your choice!

2. A 'You Be the Director' Scene in The Anonymous Series (will go to the highest bidder)  
Minimum donation **$50** - minimum scene length, 2500 words  
You tell me what gets you going, what you want to read about, and I make Rob and his Domme do your bidding. Simple as that. This is pretty much no holds barred, your chance to imagine Rob in whatever way you wish. Again, the only restriction is that the scenario must not involve Kristen Stewart, but other people may be involved in the scene if you wish (real or fictional).

If you are interested in bidding on these, go to Auction Message Board on TheFandomGivesBack website and look for my author name under the FanFiction offerings. Or take the parentheses out of this link for a more direct approach. http(://)thefandomgivesback(.)proboards(.)com(/)(?)board(=)fic&action(=)display&thread=11

A HUGE thank you to the usual suspects, especially Songirl. I cannot even begin to tell you how much time she gives to help with this. Her words are beautiful and her heart even more so. If you're not reading her story, Northern Lights and Whiskey Lullabies, shame on you. (It's RPatz for chrissakes - and it's beautiful) (again, remove the parentheses)  
http(://)www(.)twilighted(.)net(/)viewstory(.)php(?)sid(=)5119

A big grateful thank you to Team Spank Me at the Perv Pack Smut Shack for the amazing round table recommendation last week. You all made my year with your kind words. Seriously.

Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level for this chapter: 3

Blah, blah, blah. . .

CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains graphic scenes of a sexual nature. These include Dom/sub play, sexual acts with partners of the same gender and various forms of penetration. If this bothers you, please hit the back button located at the top left hand side of your screen. If you want to flame my writing, be my guest, I love constructive criticism, but please don't flame the subject matter now that you have been warned. Thank you, and have a nice day.

DISCLAIMER: This is a complete work of fiction and is about my _fictionalized version_ of Rob. I don't know Rob, Stephanie Meyer or anyone associated with Twilight or Summit Entertainment. Actually, I don't know anyone important, at all. Therefore, no copyright infringement, or offense, is intended. Any offense is completely inadvertent and if offense is taken, I assure you I will be dealt with swiftly and soundly. I promise.

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: The name Robert Pattinson is owned by the real life counterpart. It is used here only for entertainment purposes and no disparagement is intended. The plot, characterizations and text of this piece are owned and copyrighted © 2009 by SinandShame. Any infringement will be prosecuted to the full extent of applicable law. That is my formal notice. On a more casual note, I'm actually an attorney. I wouldn't advise stealing my stuff. End of statement.

Chapter 6

The Odyssey

Vancouver

Spring, 2009

She didn't say that I had to buy this stuff in a shoppe and she probably assumed I'd buy it online. I probably _should_ have bought it online. But there was something intriguing about going to a sex shoppe. Something enticing and scary at the same time. I chuckled when I thought about the press getting photos of me coming or going from a place like that. I smiled and decided I didn't really give a flying fuck if they did. Well, maybe I cared a little bit. Considering that I wore a hoodie (a new one, even), took two body guards and went shopping at 4am, I guess I cared a lot. I was curious, but I really didn't want to tempt fate any more than necessary. I was already testing the bodyguards confidentiality clauses and that was enough for one night.

So there I was, in a "stag" shoppe, as they called them here. I guess that sounds nicer than a sex shoppe, but does it really matter what they're called? From what I gather, they are all pretty much the same.

I looked over the list I printed out. There were two sections, _required _and _desired_. She was even sensual by e-mail. The _required_ list was not very long, and it entailed mostly basic stuff that I was kind of familiar with. Lube, warming and regular, both water and silicone based. I was becoming an expert on lube. _Silicone was longer lasting and better for toys but water based was closer to a body's natural fluids and was easier to clean. _I laughed to myself as I realized I sounded like a fucking advert. Small dildo, vibrator, cock ring, nipple clamps (preferably Electrosex), blindfold, small leather whip or cat-o-nine tails, personal toy cleaner and batteries. I laughed thinking about the Christmas adverts saying "don't forget the batteries."

I walked around the store slowly and just gawked at some of the "toys." I quickly realized how shallow my little foray into this arena was; at least physically. It seemed as though my mistress focused on developing the psychological relationship. I imagined the bolder physical relationship would follow and that thought went straight to my cock.

The _desired_ list was a little more toward the edge of my comfort zone. "Rude Boy" (which is also known as a solo play rocker. _What the fuck?)_ Oh, and with varying size anal plugs. Okay, so this stuff was _way_ beyond the edge of my comfort zone. A bondage vest, ankle and wrist cuffs, restraint wrap. I shivered at the thought of being bound completely in front of her. That didn't stop me from buying every last thing on the list.

My security guys had kept a watch on the door and no one else had entered the shoppe while we were there. Gathering my items in a basket, I approached the counter. As the shoppe girl looked at me, I realized my luck with discretion may have run out. She was a diminutive little blonde, well, strawberry blonde, maybe? With a cute round face and almond shaped eyes. She was dressed conservatively. She could have been a secretary or assistant of some sort, except for one thing: her lips. They were full and sensual, accented dramatically with a dark liner. Her pout was the color of fresh blood. It was a stark contrast to her coloring, but it was strikingly beautiful. It lent an edgy seduction to her appearance.

I placed the basket on the counter and stood there nervously while she rifled through it, ringing up my purchases. "Good evening, Sir," she chimed cheerfully. "Did you find everything you were looking for?" She looked at me intently, but made no indication that she recognized me.

"Um, yes, I did. Thank you."

She smiled at me. It was a sweet smile. Innocent. Demure, even. All of which belied the sensuality of her mouth. "I'm glad to hear that, Sir. We pride ourselves on serving _all _of our customers' needs." As she emphasized the word _all_, she winked at me. I smiled back but quickly tossed away the thought of taking her somewhere and letting her put those lips to good use.

I paid in cash. Even I'm not stupid enough to hand over my credit card in a place like this. At least not right now. As she handed me my change and my shopping bag, she leaned toward me, over the counter. "And sir, just so you know, the other thing we pride ourselves on is protecting our customers' privacy." She winked again and I exhaled forcefully in relief. She obviously knew who I was, but was telling me my secret was safe. "And if you need _anything_ else, please feel free to call and ask for me. I'd be happy to deliver whatever you may need if you aren't able to get back to the shoppe."

I looked at her name tag and smiled back. "Thank you for the offer, Emma. I'll keep that in mind." And with that, I followed my security out the door and into the waiting car.

***

Like a kid with new toys, I looked through the things I had bought. Of course they looked interesting, but I knew something was missing. Something that would bring back the strong feelings I had when I was actually with her. After thinking about it for a while, I sent her an e-mail with an odd request. Surprisingly, she answered me. It wasn't much, but it was something about her I didn't have or know before. Something to remind me. Her perfume. It was so distinct. It always did something to me. Come to think of it, scents have always been powerful with me. I can remember waking up as a child and smelling the rich scent of sausages and grease wafting from the kitchen as mum made a fry up. I can remember the lingering breeze of flowers and vanilla in the foyer when my sisters had gone out for the night. And sometimes I can almost feel the cloak of her perfume and taste the fruity balance on my tongue.

She told me what it was, but, of course, she didn't make it easy. Leave it to her to find a fragrance that was almost impossible to get. It couldn't be purchased in a shoppe, unless, of course, I happened to be in the Netherlands. I chuckled. She had mentioned before that she didn't presume I could afford any of this stuff, and I doubt she expected me to purchase this. But, of all the things that I was acquiring for this foray into the unknown, this was probably the thing I was most looking forward to having. A simple bottle of the perfume she wore. The toys and other things reminded me of the journey we were on, the means to an end. The perfume, however, reminded me of why I was on that path.

It wasn't about the sex. Well, okay, it was a little about the sex. Certainly less now than it was before. It was more about learning how to trust myself and when to open up and trust others. How to demonstrate respect for people and demand that same respect for myself. To respect myself enough to admit that what I _want _and what I _need_ matter. How the fuck I ever got into the entertainment business without being a selfish bastard is beyond me. In actuality, I am not very well suited to this business. I saw a t-shirt once that was literally perfect for me. It said "I'm co-dependent. I hope that's okay with you." I laughed at it. And then later I nearly cried thinking about the truth in it.

So I sat at the computer looking for her perfume. I was starting to forget her scent, but hints of the memory held firm. It was fruity. Not pungent or cloying, just light and fresh and soft. I recalled that much. Apparently, it was called Eau d'Hadrien by Annick Goutal Parfums. Say that ten times fast. The "official" description of it was, "A sparkling composition. _Eau d'Hadrien_ is a fresh, citrus fragrance in which a zesty touch of lemons from Sicily and grapefruits ripened under the Italian sun blended with the subtle notes of citron and cypress." Only one shoppe in the world carried it and it was in Rotterdam. Leave it to her to find a fragrance as rarified, unique and distinctive as she is. Although I doubt it was quite as exquisite as she was. Did I mention I paid extra for express shipping?

After I ordered it, I returned to my searches on some of the mindfuck material she had me reading. Some of this was more embarrassing than going to the stag shoppe. I'd never fucking heard of _male_ Kegel exercises before. I'll admit I only _vaguely _knew what the fuck _female _Kegel exercises were. She said they were important, though, so I did them religiously. After I found my "pelvic floor" muscles, it was easy. Contract them, hold it, repeat. Just like going to the gym. _Right._ At least some of the websites had a sense of humor about this stuff.

_But there's more - as with any muscle, you get better results if you work against resistance. God gave you a built in PC barbell, in the form of your erect penis. Remember how the PCs raise your erection? That action is working the muscles against gravity. So, do your Kegels standing or sitting while you have an erection. You can add resistance by adding weight in the form of a wash cloth over your penis. Note - when you can flip a full bath towel over your shoulder, you have gone to far! It will take a couple of weeks to begin to notice results, so don't give up too soon. _

Practice makes perfect, right?

***

I looked at the clock on my computer. 1:58 a.m. _Fuck_. I jumped off the bed and stripped off my trousers and t-shirt. Commando was pretty standard for me these days. I figured between the buying and the washing, underpants were overrated. I grabbed my phone and scrolled to her number as I kneeled on the chair.

"Good morning, my pet," she answered sweetly. _God_ I loved hearing her voice. Before the meltdown, I think I was using her to fix everything that was fucked up in my life. Now, she was like frosting on the best fucking cake ever.

"Good morning, mistress," I whispered.

"Have you continued doing your exercises?"

"Yes, mistress."

"How long are your holds and how many repetitions?"

"Ten seconds, ten repetitions, four times per day." What the fuck else did I have to do sitting around the hotel room or my trailer on the set?

"Wonderful, my pet. If that is the case, I believe you are ready to begin the next step, which is learning to orgasm without ejaculating."

I'd read about this shit. It was scary but intriguing at the same time. Male multiple orgasms? _Fuck me._ I was usually worthless after one. I said nothing, though. This hour was the one time all day that I could clear my mind and simply await instruction. For this, I was always rewarded.

"So, my pet, what shall we discuss to arouse you this morning? Anything particular come to mind?" Just the lilting tenor of her voice was enough to get me interested.

She had asked me to think up scenes that we could use during the phone sessions. I was torn between imagining new fantasies, and thinking about the things that we had actually done together. Both of those evoked strong images. I cleared my throat softly, debating whether to actually voice my immediate thoughts.

"Do not be hesitant," she scolded softly. "Insofar as I ask you to speak, please speak freely, my pet. That is the cornerstone of this arrangement. Without that, we have nothing to build upon."

I took a deep breath and stretched my neck, already thinking about it. "That night, mistress, on the ottoman, at the window, seeing you like that . . ."

"Ah yes, my pet. Did you enjoy that evening?"

My cock sure as shit did. Thinking about it made my bits feel like haveng a little party of their own. "I enjoyed it very much, mistress."

"I'm curious, my pet. Would it interest you to consider training as a Dominant?"

My eyes popped open and I swear I couldn't breathe. Fear. Absolute fear. That's the only thing I could imagine tightening my chest like that. "I, uh, mistress, I don't . . ."

She heard the disquiet in my voice and took pity on me. "Perhaps that is a discussion best left for another time. Now, can you tell me something about that scene that appealed to you?"

My chest opened up and my breathing evened out. I felt the blood start flowing again. As the tension left, I thought back to that night. I could see her neck as her head fell forward, gracefully laying her forehead against the cool glass of the window. I described the dichotomy of the positions. She was the one that was bound and yet I was unable to move because she was controlling the rhythm. She lauded my astute perception. Her approval and favor never failed to send electricity pounding through my body.

"Tell me, my pet, have you been able to shop for the items on your list yet?"

I shuddered just a little. "Yes, mistress. I have acquired everything you requested." I ran through the list trying to anticipate what she would have me use right now. It was unnerving but arousing at the same time.

"Wonderful." _God. _The pleasure in her voice made me harder, if that was possible. I'd lived most of my life to please other people and had little to show for it. But I'd finally learned that pleasing _her_ actually gave me something in return.

"Please fetch the warming lube, the cock ring, the wrist straps and the clamps and chains" she said wistfully. "Do not worry about the electrical connectors for the clamps. Those won't be necessary right now."

"Yes, mistress." My fingers trembled as I looked through the drawer where I hid this stuff. I wasn't nervous, at least I don't think I was. I was excited.

I pulled the items from the drawer and floated back over to the chair. There was something so calming about these sessions. I savored that feeling. "I'm ready, mistress."

"Now put on the wrist straps and tighten them just until they are snug. Please be certain that the ring or connection hook is on the top of your wrist."

I slid the strap over my left wrist and twisted it to put the ring at the top. I could smell the leather; kind of like a new car smell. It was sharp but not in a distracting way. It reminded me of the other sub and the way her collar smelled. The stiff outer band was contrasted by the soft, fluffy padding on the inside. I could see the furry material all around the edges of the cuff, insuring that my skin would not be marked. I tightened it and buckled the strap securely before slipping on the other cuff.

After I had the cuffs on, she had me put on the cock ring. The smoothness of her voice was all I needed to get me hard enough for that. "Imagine that I'm there with you, kneeling over you, running my tongue over your chest, across your nipples."

_Jesus. _

"Do you like it when I do that, my pet?"

"Yes, mistress. I like it very much."

"Now I want you to apply the clamps, very carefully. It may be slightly uncomfortable, at first, but not sharply painful. It should feel like I'm biting down on your nipples, ever so gently."

I looked down and fumbled a little with the clamps. The rough texture of my calloused fingers grated against my nipples, tightening them. I nervously sucked in a breath as the clamp closed over the taut flesh. She was right. The sensation traveled the fine line between pleasure and pain, tilting slightly toward pleasure.

"Can you feel me hovering over you?" She spoke softly, whispering to me as though she were right next to me. "Can you feel my teeth pulling across your skin?"

The images her words invoked were so vivid. I could see her flaming red hair floating on my chest as I looked down at her. "Yes," I moaned. "Yes, Mistress."

"Excellent. Now, finally, I want you to hook the ends of the clamp chains to the rings on your wrist cuffs . . ."

I did that and then, she read to me. Erotic poetry. She read while I stroked myself. Each pass pulled just a little on the chains, tugging on my nipples. It was like a circle, my fingers running over my cock, sending a flood of excitement into my chest, while a slight tension on the on my nipples altered the sensation, sharpening it and pushing the feeling down into my arms, returning to my cock.

She focused on guiding me through the mastery of this sensation, toward the brink of orgasm. Again, and again, she took me to the edge and then commanded me to come back. Eventually, I lost myself in the sound of her words, in the images of her body and in the caress of my own hands. The sweet agony of delaying my pleasure was more than I could stand. I lost track of time and space; I became desperate for fruition. My emotions had surfaced and I felt as though they were seeping out through my skin. I honestly felt like weeping. I was so full and so incredibly sensitized, I was loathe to orgasm for fear those feelings would be lost. I wanted to hide them away and keep them sacred. Inevitably, the tenuous control of my arousal pushed nearer the physical boundary for the countless time until my discipline lapsed and I slid over the edge of release. For a moment I panicked, before then I simply gave in and experienced the pleasure as the product of my efforts was cast out forcefully into my waiting hands.

She did not chastise me, only praised my progress and encouraged me to keep trying. Despite my "failure" with her, I was getting quite good at wanking until I was going to explode and then hanging myself out to dry. Fucking brilliant at it, actually. And truth be told, it was pissing me off. The Kegel "exercises" helped, but I had yet to climb to a point where I felt actually "orgasmed" without "finishing." Without that, I suppose I was just blue balling myself. _Lovely._

***

Cannes, France

May, 2009

This was fun again. I forgot that this shit could actually be pretty cool when I wasn't fucking worrying about the crap I can't do anything about.

The sun was shining. The air was salty. There was a nice breeze blowing across the water. I could almost imagine I was on holiday. _Almost._ I smiled for the cameras, but smirked behind my sunglasses because I knew something the paparazzi didn't. That I didn't give a flying fuck about them anymore. I promised myself after my little meltdown that I wasn't going to worry about the shit I couldn't control anymore. I was focusing on my life and what I needed. For once in my fucking co-dependent life, _I_ was the important one.

I laughed when I saw the shots from the photo call. It was more of a cattle call if you ask me. In those few pictures, though, the real me came through. I was smiling and I meant it.

…_Los Angeles resident Erika Dutra and Robert were spotted canoodling at the post-party for amfAR Cinema Against AIDS in Cannes._

"Erika was introduced to Robert by a mutual friend at the beginning of the night and he was smitten with her from that point on," an eyewitness tells Life & Style. "He took pictures of her, sat with her all night, and the two of them were even seen kissing! There was serious chemistry between them, and they looked like they were having an amazing time."

_And it seems the night didn't end there for the two: "Erika and Robert even left the party together!" the eyewitness reveals.  
_

The tabloids get it _almost_ right, once in a while. What's the saying? Even a blind squirrel finds a nut occasionally?

"You need to tell me what you want," I said low, but forcefully. She was already glassy-eyed and her breathing was rich and heavy. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me," I repeated, holding her against the door with nothing more than my fingers gripping her waist.

I suddenly thought that I should be careful. She was going to talk. I was certain of that. _Fuck_. I didn't mind that so much, it was inevitable, really. But I couldn't give her any real ammunition. _Breathe, damnit_. And think. Okay, this can be easy. Nothing kinky or over the top. Just get her off and leave. Deal with the fallout later. Isn't that just the story of my fucking life? Everyone else gets what they want and I don't. What's the fucking point to this, then? Why the fuck did I leave with her? This is ridiculous. I had to laugh a little. What else was there to do?

"What's so funny?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing," I said curtly.

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. "Oh, really?"

Did I mention she was a little sarcastic? When we'd been introduced at the party, she made it abundantly clear that I could take whatever I wanted from her. She also made it clear that I wouldn't be taking advantage of her. In other words, she had an agenda. Then again, didn't they all?

So here we are. She got her photo op and now I get what I want. The question is, what _do _I want? I looked down at her. She was attractive. She wasn't the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, but she certainly wasn't hideous. Okay, just relax, use this as practice. I smirked, knowing she would be a lot easier to please than my _usual_ sparring partner.

I slipped my thumb across her cheek and followed the line of her jaw to the rounded collar of her black dress. I slid my palm against the nape of her neck, gripping her gently so I could turn her cheek, pressing it firmly against the door. I leaned down to trace a path from her chin to her ear, grazing her soft skin with the minutiae of stubble I had. She smelled different. Not bad, just not _her_. _Damnit._ I closed my eyes. _Don't do this to yourself. Just let go. Practice, remember? Enjoy this._ She must have sensed my unrest and tensed a little herself. I breathed in deeply at the pulse point behind her ear. "Relax," I sighed to her on the exhale, trying to take my own advise.

It was empowering. It really was. After so many months of feeling like the _student_ in my sexual adventures, it was nice to turn the tables. She was very responsive; warm and soft in all the right places. I was aroused, but not to the point that I couldn't manage it. It seems I was very adept at holding back my needs in every aspect of life. I watched her carefully and listened for the cues I knew would be readily apparent. Mistress might even be proud.

She stepped out of her shoes and pulled the hem of her dress over her head as I backed her up toward the bed. I towered over her as she fell back gently, casually leaning on her elbows.

She was bare. Nothing on under her cocktail dress. How gauche. Then again, what could I expect from a Hollywood tartlet? I trailed my finger across her belly, drawing lazy circles around her navel. There was a slight tremor in her skin as she let the sensations flow through her.

"Lay back," I whispered as I drew the back of my hand over her body, between her breasts and around her collarbone. "Put your arms above your head." She did as I asked and her eyes closed as her lips curled into a little smile. She liked this. _Good._ Can't get a bad reputation this early in my career now, can we?

As she stretched her arms further, I closed my hands around her waist, pulling her

closer to the foot of the bed. I ghosted my palms over the back her thighs and down her calves, gripping her ankles gently and raising them to rest her feet on the edge of the bed. There she was, open and waiting, silently begging for me to touch her. If I had learned anything these past few months, it was that the waiting _always _made it better. She would have to wait for me.

I stood there, looking down at her, boring into her. She looked up at me impatiently. "Keep your eyes closed." That probably sounded harsher than I intended. Should I explain that I know for a fact that sensory deprivation increases the pleasure? Or should I just let her think I'm an asshole? She had closed her eyes already, but the smile had faded from her lips. Screw it. _Asshole it is_, I thought as I sunk to my knees in front of her. She'll forgive me soon enough.

Her scent radiated around me. It was faint but warm and peppery. I watched and waited, curious to see how patient she was. I leaned in closer, gently sending my warm breath over her. Her chest rose sharply and she shivered. _Excellent._ I felt her fever on my cheeks as I let the sensations envelop me. I sat back a little and just watched her.

Finally, with a simple touch, her nipples pebbled and the smooth skin of her breasts tightened. I let the the tip of my finger slip over her sex. She shivered, so I did it again. Her face was a mix of frustration and indulgence. I smiled and chose to take pity on her. With that, I placed my palm firmly against her, focusing the pressure on the soft flesh covering her clitoris. She trembled and I brought my other hand to her belly, smoothing it over her skin to calm her.

I smiled as my fingers finally slipped inside. She was satiny, like the feel of melted butter on my skin and I savored the rewards for my patience. I felt her senses heighten as she focused on my touch, manipulating her skin with calloused hands and the subtle grainy texture of my tongue. I devoured her, taking pleasure in her praise of my efforts. The gentle hums vibrating through her body, the soft sighs and the sharp breaths. It was a symphony of pleasure.

"Robert. . ."

That one word dissipated my solemn concentration, destroying the peaceful ambience and shifting my focus. I just wasn't used to hearing that way anymore. Should I just blatantly ask her not to say my name? Not to say anything? I decided to try and be tactful. Without looking up, I brushed my fingers against her mouth. Her elixir covered my hand which made it that much better when she parted her lips and greedily pulled my fingers against her tongue. The eroticism of the moment poured into me. It was a juxtaposition of wet and slick with a fine texture; not completely smooth but lustrous all the same.

I paused my gestures and enjoyed the simple feeling of her laving her tongue over my hand. A myriad of images spanned my consciousness, and I let the pleasure build in my mind as opposed to my body. In that moment, I was giving her pleasure, and taking pleasure from her in return. I luxuriated in watching her arousal build. I leaned in gently and brushed my tongue against her. She trembled and tightened her fingers around my wrist, still sucking softly on my fingers. She was open to me, vulnerable and exposed. She was trusting me with her body and I would not take that for granted. Trust, in any form should be cherished.

I worked her body and fed her senses with my hands, my mouth and my words. I spoke of the innate beauty of the female form while I flooded her sex with physical precision and skill. My actions took her slowly toward the top of the ladder and I held her just below the summit as she writhed and begged for a gentle push off the edge. With a final touch, my lips enveloping her and my tongue pressing firmly, she fell helplessly into the abyss.

The harsh outer shell she wore seemed to break away after that. She sweetly asked me to stay, her eyes sated, and her voice rich with the desire to sleep. I politely declined as I tucked her into bed. She was asleep before I could smooth the blanket around her shoulders. I watched her for a moment before I leaned down and brushed my lips against her forehead.

Stepping on to the elevator, I felt a little smug. The pride I felt was that of a job well done. I managed to give her pleasure, a great deal of pleasure, actually, without getting myself worked up physically. My mind was sated, even though I never even reached full staff. Hell, I hadn't even taken my tie off. I chuckled a little at that.

I was groggy the next day. Not hungover. Okay, a little hungover. I'd come back to the room and rewarded myself. That included 2 fingers of good bourbon and an attempt at wanking without making a mess. That part failed but I didn't really care.

I remember turning off my phone at the benefit. I kind of hummed to myself as I turned it on to check it. No missed calls. Good. Then I looked at the time and the arrogance and ego all fell away. At that exact moment I imagine I went paler than Edward on his worst day. I looked at it again to be certain I wasn't imagining it. It was noon in Cannes. That meant it was _six_ am in New York. _Fuck. Me._

Just a quick end note. I have to once again mention that I am overwhelmed by the love you all have for this story. The reactions and reviews are humbling. I cannot tell you what it means to me that you enjoy this. A little good news, I have signed on to write something for the Friday Free For All series hosted by the lovely Ninapolitan. My turn comes up on mid February. My plan right now it to write a very special outtake for Anonymous. Immediately following that outtake, I intend to post an epilogue to close this story. Don't worry, there are several chapters left between now and then. But all good things must end. After that, there is a good chance that you will get a collaboration between Songirl and myself so stay tuned. Thank you again and don't forget to check out the Fandom Gives Back auction!


	7. Waiting for Godot

AUTHOR'S NOTES: (kind of important this time, please read :)

This chapter was written especially for Dee, who generously donated to the Fandom Gives Back auction. I hope this piece brings her a fraction of the joy her donation will give to those in need.

Very quickly I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that The Anonymous Series (Chapter 3, specifically), has been nominated for a Golden Lemon Award. I am absolutely blown away by this and to even be mentioned on the same website as the other nominees is humbling. For example, the category (Best Tie Me UP and Fuck Me) includes TaraSueME and LolaShoes. There are a myriad of amazing lemons nominated. Go forth and smut. And vote if your heart desires. Voting ends Saturday, February13th.

http(://)www(.)goldenlemonawards(.)com/2010/02/nominees-are-here(.)html

The bad news is that a beautiful story, Northern Lights and Whiskey Lullabies, has been ripped from ff . net for violating their "rpf" restriction. As a result, you'll notice that a certain name doesn't appear here and I will likely refine the other chapters to prevent it from being pulled before it is complete. I also anticipate that I will be moving back to Twilighted exclusively in the near future. Stay tuned.

Songirl, my friend, muse and writing partner, will continue to work her magic on Twilighted. Here is a note from her personally:

My story Northern Lights and Whiskey Lullabies has been reported and removed by the moderators of this site. It is still posted on Twilighted. The link to the NL&WL story forum is on my profile. Please visit there, and place the story on alert if you would like to continue reading future updates. Oh, and tell a friend if you wish. Thank you so much for all of your lovely reviews and support for my story on this site.

Please vote for my Gorgeous ficwife SinShameandGuilt where her story has been nominated for a Golden Lemon, she is my incredibly generous and talented friend. But you already know that, it's why you are here.

http(://)www(.)goldenlemonawards(.)com/2010/02/nominees-are-here(.)html

Now back to our regularly scheduled program. . .

Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level for this chapter: 4 (Hey, I moved up a grade! Yay, lol)

CONTENT WARNING: If you've made it this far, I'm assuming you know the drill.

DISCLAIMER/COPYRIGHT: Mostly not mine. The jacked up psychological plot? That is mine and I'd love it if you didn't steal it.

* * *

The Anonymous Series

Chapter 7  
Waiting for Godot

I don't know what I was expecting when I dialed the number. Maybe I thought she'd scream and yell and tell me how she would punish me for missing our call. I sure as hell wasn't expecting the number to be out of service. _Fuck_. Was she cutting me off? What kind of punishment was that? After all we'd been through to get to this point. She was just going to bail on me? _Fuck._

I came close to another nervous breakdown, then things got really bad. I got an e-mail from her instructing me to mail my collar to the concierge desk at the Hotel on Rivington. There were not many breakable things left in my hotel room after that. Once I stopped being stupid, calmed down and took a few deep breaths, I sent her an e-mail apologizing. Okay, I sent her a dozen e-mails apologizing. I begged, I pleaded, I groveled; it was quite pathetic, really. Three long fucking days later I got a very simple response that scared the living shit out of me.

_Apology accepted; forgiveness pending. We'll discuss this when we meet again. E-mail me only when you have a firm date of availability in New York. Beyond that, there will be no further contact until you get here. This does not absolve you of your restrictions or your required reading and exercises._

Part of me heaved a great sigh of relief. Another part of me shivered in tremendous fear. Both parts were a little excited. Like I've said before, she brought out every emotion in superlatives. She had an intensity that always seemed to follow her. When she hugged you, you felt safe. When she kissed you, you felt cherished. When she fucked you, you felt desirable. When she was mad at you, you were scared she was going to fucking kill you. Apparently, she was still mad, but at least she hadn't tossed me over completely. And she couldn't kill me from 3000 miles away, right? At least I hoped not.

***

I have an addictive personality. Well, maybe not so much addictive as short sighted? I'm very much a "right here, right now," kind of person. So it didn't really surprise me that I was twitchy. I felt like something was missing. Maybe I was addicted to sex. Okay, probably not. Charlie Sheen has that market covered apparently. Maybe I craved the routine I had with her and the phone calls. It had almost become a habit. Maybe I just craved attention. Yes, I had plenty of fucking attention. Maybe I craved the _right_ _kind_ of attention.

Honestly though, perhaps a couple of weeks without her was what I needed. The filming in Italy was brutal and they were some of the most intense scenes in the whole series. Especially for me. _Bella _and I actually hung out a lot in Italy. It was nice. We hadn't spent much time together in quite a while. When she was filming, I was off and vice versa. But now we had to bring that chemistry back. The new director was amazing. Much different from the first one. Much more formal and regimented. You would think that would suck but it was actually a relief. The creative process was still there but at least you woke up with some fucking clue about what you were working on that day.

We didn't get to do much _except_ work in Italy. That sucked. Every time we would even try to go for dinner, fans and paps were everywhere. _Bella_ and I were running lines at lunch one day, on this little courtyard patio that we mistakenly thought was private. We were trying to work on the reunion discussions. Those scenes were so delicate. Next thing we know, there are photos on the internet of our "secret lover's lunch." _Fuck._ These people are so stupid. They only believe what they want to believe. _Bella_ could just blow them off but they always got to me on some level. I imagined someday they'd do a Biography on me and they'd find _her_ and the truth would come out. I snickered to myself thinking how many people would suffer coronaries if that actually happened.

Actually, the _reunion _scenes got me thinking about the _other_ reunion that was rapidly approaching. _With her_. I just wasn't sure what this all meant as far as our fucked up beyond all recognition _relationship _went. To me, it felt like it could be the beginning of the end. Like it could alter our dynamic permanently, and not in a good way. Resolved that there was nothing I could do right now, I stopped thinking about it. I'd figure it out when I got back to New York. The way I looked at it, we were _on a break._

_***_

We were back in California. Fucking MTv awards or some shit. Italy was crazy but thank _god_ it was over. I expected the stalkers in the states or in Canada, even. And I guess I expected stalkers in Europe as well. I just didn't expect a million _American_ stalkers over there. _Jesus. _There were more American fans in Italy than there were Italian fans. It was unbelievable.

After that whole experience, I think I was craving normalcy. The problem was that I couldn't really remember what _normal_ was_. _I hadn't been _normal_ for several years. Perhaps I was just trying to regress to a different time. A simpler time. Looking for something else to hold on to. That had to be it.

So anyway, we were in California. After the MTv thing, _Bella_ and I went back to the hotel. Neither of us were in the mood to play the Hollywood party game. In fact, she went off to bed as soon as we got back. I was tense, though. Shocking, I know. I snuck down to the bar at the Chateau Marmont. Thank god there weren't loads of people there. I suppose the _in _crowd was all at the proper after parties. This crowd seemed low key. It was a Sunday night, so the respectable people were either home in bed or at the very least, taking it easy. This was _not_ a serious party night.

I pulled out a stool at the end of bar, closest to the hallway that lead to the lobby. I wanted an exit strategy, just to be safe. I didn't intend to do anything but have a drink or two. What's that saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? I didn't have any _intentions_ of playing the white knight when I went down there. But damned if shit doesn't just happen to me sometimes.

***

She was moving so fast and there was no where to go. I don't know if I could have gotten out of the way even if I had seen her sooner. Considering she had her head down and her face buried in her hands, she obviously didn't see me. One second I'm sipping my whiskey and the next I'm wearing it. She barreled into me, gave me a quietly mortified apology, then ran past me towards the loo. I laughed to myself about Karma being a bitch and turned to the barkeep, asking for a another whiskey.

Just as I pulled the fresh glass to my lips, eager to savor the burn of the good stuff the bartender gave me, she was back. I didn't see her until she had moved around me and up the bar, a stool between us. She called the bartender over and I watched as she struggled to lean across the bar. She was short, maybe 5' on a good day. She said something to the barkeep who glanced over at me as she spoke. When she finished, I heard him laugh and tell her he'd take care of it.

I nursed another whiskey and had a tiny but delightful buzz when I asked to close out my tab. I raised my eyebrows when the bartender informed me that it had already been paid. He discreetly nodded toward the other end of the bar. "The little brunette that gave you a whiskey bath earlier? It's on her."

I looked down to where he nodded and saw her sitting by herself, head in her hands and a drink in front of her. I skeptically glanced back at the bartender. "She been alone all night?" He nodded and smirked at me. _Fucker_.

I slid off the stool and tossed a twenty on the bar. "That's for you man." He picked it up and nodded his thanks. I stopped and debated my options. Well, as much as I could debate in the span of about fifteen seconds. Should I or shouldn't I? I could at least thank her, right? That would be the polite thing to do. I decided to just say thank you and leave. Why do things rarely go according to plan in my life?

***

You know what's really scary? When your _peers_ pity you. Or maybe it's not scary, maybe it's just sad. You know, when someone you don't really know but you know _of_, walks by you and gives you the simple greeting of hello with a nod? That would be great, if these weren't accompanied by the now familiar pity face. It's that slight head tilt, just a hint of a pout on their lips and the little dip of their eyelids. Exactly the way one looks at a crying, colicky babe. Because you feel _sorry_ for them.

My peers feel sorry for me. Me. The fucking _IT_ boy of the moment. The actor who could be making three movies at once if it were possible because I've been offered that many roles. They pity me because they know I'm the human equivalent of a trained circus bear right now. I'm caged most of the time and only let out from time to time to put on a show of some sort. I get to come out only so I can entertain people.

So that leads me to the this question. Why? Why did I end up in her hotel room? Honestly? Because she didn't give a fuck who I was. That's why. I hate to admit that's all it took, but it's true. I approached her and thanked her for the drinks and suddenly she word vomited her apologies for crashing into me and spilling my drink. She didn't go googly eyed, she didn't start flirting or hyperventilating or stuttering. She didn't do any of that shit. She awkwardly apologized and accepted my thanks. Then she turned back to the bar and put her head back in her hands.

My brain worked overtime to process the fact that she wasn't going mental on me. I vainly tried to figure out why. Given the last twelve months of my life, it really was an odd scenario. Not unlike my rendezvous with _her._ This piqued my curiosity and lead to the inevitable inquiry , and a subtle attempt at figuring out why she wasn't obsessed with me. "I'm not trying to be intrusive, I promise," I said quietly. "But, are you okay? You seem upset or something."

She lifted her head up again, tucking a strand of deep brown hair behind her ear and forcing a little smile. "Me? Oh, yeah. I'm fine," she answered quietly. "Just had a bit of a rough day, ya know?" _Join the fucking club sweetie._

***

My voice is thick and murky from the whiskey and not enough sleep. We're kneeling on the bed. We had a race to see who could get their clothes off first. I won. My prize was getting to watch her unsnap her bra then bend over to slip off her underwear. Sliding behind her, my hands work their way up her torso, stopping at the underside of her breasts and raising them just enough so I can see her tight, darkened nipples when I lean over her shoulder.

When we got to her room, I watched as she carefully brushed out her hair. The harsh light of the loo backlit her silhouette and the deep cherry red highlights in her hair sparkled against their chocolate background. She twisted it up in some sort of clip. Someone told me once that's a sign that her neck is an erogenous zone. She shudders when I run my tongue from the middle of her back to the nape of her neck so I'll throw that tip into the "confirmed" file. I hug her to me, settling her shoulders into my chest. I can almost cross my arms completely around her and she wiggles a little when I've enveloped her.

"A little much," she says quietly and tugs on my arms until I've loosened my hold.

"Sorry," I murmur, then whisper in her ear, "Scoot up and put your palms against the wall." She moans just a little bit but does as I ask. Her shoulders are tense and I massage them briefly before dragging my hands down to her hips. She's slim and tiny and anxious on top of that. I press my thumbs into the soft indentations right above her ass and brush what I hope are soothing patterns over her skin. I can feel her blood pooling at the surface, her skin flushing, warming her and softening her senses. She relaxing now and that gets me a just little bit harder.

I pull her closer, just enough so my fingers can reach between her legs. She's wet and swollen already and her breathing escalates when my fingers slip inside. I think about the reality of this. It's not a scene, it's not some contrived Hollywood hook up and it's not a bumbling drunken fuck. This is more real; more grown up. We're here because we want to be; because we can; and there are no expectations outside of making the moment a little better than it was before. This is something to savor. I decide to let go of the Catholic guilt that's sewn into the fabric of my being and vow to enjoy this; and to make sure she enjoys it as well.

My palms press harder into her as my hands move in long strokes from her knees upward. My cock is pressed between us, heavy with blood and lust. She's pushing back against me, telling me she's ready. I push timidly between her shoulder blades, silently asking her to lean forward a little. "Can you spread your knees a little bit wider?" She complies and I tilt my hips down, slipping my cock between her legs. The weight of it presses against her and she sighs. I buck towards her and feel my head grazing the slickness of her lips; she groans as I brush her clitoris.

I lean over her, licking a path from her shoulder to her ear before taking the lobe gently between my teeth. I pinch her nipples roughly before moving my hands to brace her hips. "Are you ready?" She nods and leans her head down to her chest, taking a deep breath in anticipation. My cock is moving parallel to her, coating itself and I can feel the veins in it pulsing just a little faster. She's too small to just twist and slide in so I carefully reach down, spreading her open and resting the head just there. She's slippery and warm and maybe I could push just a little and be completely inside. I want to make it good though, really good. So I tease her. A lot. I barely nudge the swollen head against her, just letting her sense the pressure while my fingers tap a rhythm just above the connection.

It's only a moment before she's writhing, as much as she can in our embrace. I'm curious, "Can I make you cum from this?" My voice sounds conceited but she moans and nods her head anyway and I hear a faint "god, yes," leave her breath. I can feel the moisture flowing onto the head of my cock, but it's trapped. Dragging my fingers slowly up her chest, I bring them to her mouth. I feel confident and bold. My voice is deeper from the eroticism of the moment and the liberties I'm taking to enjoy this.

I push against her lips, gently prying them open. "Get my fingers wet so I can make you cum." The air rushes from her belly as she moans and sucks my fingers into her mouth. She's laving her tongue around them, biting softly. I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of her mouth around me and then finally pull them out and shift them to where we are joined.

A few passes and I can feel her thighs twitching against me. She approaching her precipice and it's getting difficult to keep her pinned against me. I don't want her to cross the line yet; I want to draw it out for her. Just when I think she can't take it anymore, I push forward a little and the movement twists my cock into her soft, silky warmth. She gasps sharply while I expel every ounce of air I'd been holding in my lungs.

"Jesus," she says, throwing her head back to my shoulder. I'm quiet as I lean down, resting my forehead on her shoulder, breathing heavily into her skin. I can feel the warm, moist air reflect off of her back toward my face. If I close my eyes, I can imagine a sauna surrounding me. The air is thick and heavy and there's a hint musk around us. It all makes me a little lightheaded. Or it could be the fact that my cock is in a vice grip. Definite possibility.

"Fuck, you're tight," I sigh, roughly digging my fingers into her hips. She laughs. "What's so funny?" What I want to sound sarcastic, only comes out breathless and desperate.

"Nothing," she says shaking her head and pushing back against me. I take the opportunity to pull her flush to my chest. She's so close I can feel my nipples scratching against the smooth skin of her shoulders. I tentatively pull out a little, only to quickly thrust back inside. The resistance is unbelievable and I can't help but groan. She's enveloping me and it seems, I don't know, just, different. Maybe I'm more sensitive now, but the texture seems heightened. It's like I can feel the waves and pleats of her body as they stretch and conform to my trespass. She's shifting back to me as we build a slow, complimentary cadence.

We're both on the ladder now and I can see the top rung. I need to draw back and refocus. I stop our movements and the sound of our pants and deep breaths fills my ears. The alternate pulsing of our heartbeats reverberates through my chest but the tense exterior silence is exhilarating.

Aside from my breathing and rhythmically flexing my abs, there is no movement between us. My hands are holding her open, exposing the smooth pink flesh that is slippery and taught with arousal. I'm holding her there, trying to push her closer and closer to the edge. A moment later I see her hand leave the wall and she slides it down over her belly, slipping in between my fingers. I can feel her caress, barely brushing my hand as she moves in firm even loops. She' starts thrusting ever so slightly into the friction and I can feel her entire being start to tighten and relax in a lilting metre.

I groan thinking about what she's doing and have to grit my teeth to push back my orgasm. Before I gain my composure, a growl escapes my throat and I tell her to "stop." My voice is gravelly and rough and she moans loudly at my command. The fact that she responded in such a fashion makes my cock swell even more. From there, my instincts take over and a baser side rises to the surface.

It takes a second and a half for me to toss her lithe body over on to her back. Both of her tiny wrists fit nicely into the grip of my long fingers as I stretch her arms above her head. I force my knees between her thighs and I can see the strain in her muscles as she's spread before me. My other hand grips her waist and tilts her hips up as I bring us back together. It's rougher now; less careful, less tentative. She's meeting my thrusts and I press my hand to the small of her back to pull her toward me, eliminating what little gap exists between our bodies.

I can feel the burn begin in my belly and I slow down to stave it off. She'll get one more if it kills me. Letting go of her wrists, I sit up on my knees. She's staring at me, a little glazed but with a smirk on her face. I laugh and tease her that she has no idea what she's gotten herself into. She laughs right back and challenges me to show her.

"Give me your hand." My voice is authoritative again. I'm not asking her right now, I'm telling her. She reaches her hand toward me and I lean in, wrapping my lips around her fingers. Just like she did earlier, I'm sucking and biting, rolling my tongue over her skin. I release her fingers and guide them between her legs. In the same commanding tone, I tell her to pleasure herself again. Once she has a bit of flow to her movements, I tug on her legs and pull her ankles to my shoulder.

My arms anchor her calves to my body. Her thighs are twisted and her hand is clamped between them. I palm her hip as I press back inside. If possible, she's tighter in this position. I can tell by her breathy gasps that she feels it too. She's contracting around me and I feel her impending orgasm building. The warm, distinctive smell of sex hangs around us, decadent and just a little taboo. Her body is glistening with perspiration and the dark pink of her lips and her nipples is highlighted by a flush that flows down from her cheeks and onto the graceful lines of her chest.

I'm in control, but just barely; hanging on with my last ounce of resolve. We're staring at one another, almost daring the other one to end this. I love it; I love that we're equals in this. I love that there is no script. No rhyme or reason. Finally, I gather my best smirk and whisper to her to cum for me. And she does. And it's fucking glorious.

***

"I should go," I said softly. My head was tucked into her shoulder as we lay facing each other on our sides. I didn't know what time it was, but I could see the first inkling of light through the gap in the heavy drapery.

"That's fine," she mumbled as she nuzzled her cheek against me. "Whatever you need to do."

I leaned back to look at her face, gently holding her chin and tracing her lips with my thumb. "You know, if things were different. . ." She put her finger on my lips to stop me.

"None of that, remember?" How could I forget? When I approached her in the bar, she was a little drunk and a lot sad. She wouldn't tell me specifics but I gleaned that it was problems with a relationship. I'm sure sex wasn't the best thing for that but it seemed that's what she wanted. She seemed to know who I was but she didn't make a big deal out of it. I introduced myself as Bobby and didn't give a last name. She smiled at me but didn't ask questions and when she told me her name was Cherry, I decided that was all I needed to know.

We laughed. God did we laugh. We sat at the bar and had one more drink and she spent half an hour telling me dirty jokes. I hadn't had that much, just plain _fun,_ with a woman in ages. It was brilliant. I jokingly asked her why she was slumming in this bar telling jokes to a stranger, and she told me, without hesitation, "Because you looked like you needed to laugh." I told her that was a selfless thing to do when she obviously had things on her mind as well. She shrugged it off and said "Sometimes thinking about someone else gives you a clearer picture of yourself."

I looked at her gently and saw a sincere and honest person. "You're one of the wisest young ladies I've ever had the pleasure of meeting," I spoke, using the most proper British tone I could muster. She laughed again, and I laughed with her. "So, Ms. Cherry," I said casually, "I needed to laugh and you certainly assisted me with that. What can I do to return the favor?" She was quiet again, and her eyes fell to the back wall of the bar, unfocused and clearly imagining another time and place. I waited a moment and then reached for her hand, gently wrapping my fingers around her and brushing them reverently against her palm. "Tell me," I whispered, leaning toward her, "what is it you need?" By this time I was close enough to inhale the intoxicating scent of her hair and the soft skin of her neck. She smelled of liquor, and ginger and oranges, clean and fresh with a hint of spice. "Anything you need, just name it."

She brought her eyes to mine and her expression softened. The confident, bold woman slipped behind a more modest version. "What if I said, I just needed to feel desirable?" And that's all it took. I wanted to prove to her that she was _very_ desirable, because she was. She was witty and confident and beautiful and everything anyone with half a brain would want and cherish. And the tiny flash of vulnerability she showed only made her more endearing.

***

"Thank you," she whispered against my lips as we stood at the door to her suite.

"No," I smiled as she kissed me chastely, "thank you." _Thank you for making me feel normal for a little while; for reminding me that experiences are meant to be shared and enjoyed, regardless of the rhyme or reason behind them. _

It seemed we both needed something that night and the universe, in it's usual random and backhanded way, had given it to us. It was a night I would not regret, nor would I soon forget.

***

As instructed, I had e-mailed her the date and time I would be available in New York. The tone of her reply was surprisingly warm.

_I am very pleased you will be here soon. The time together at regular intervals will be extremely important to your progress. Given your strong acumen, I have no doubt we shall both be amazed at the speed with which your skills develop. I look forward to our rapprochement and hope you do as well. _

Even though we were communicating again, it was a bit of a shock when she called. It had been so long since I'd heard her voice. It soothed me and excited me at the same time. She wanted to insure I checked my e-mail before tomorrow. Her e-mail would provide the new time and place for our meeting.

"Another hotel?" I asked curiously.

"No," she said casually. "It's an apartment. An acquaintance of mine was nice enough to permit us to use it."

I blanched. Doing this stuff in someone else's bed? That could be weird. I must have mumbled that out loud because she was quick to respond.

"Don't worry, we won't be using his bed, just his playroom."

As usual, part of me was apprehensive. But the transformed part of me was eager to explore this new arena.

***

My mind wandered as I packed the last of my things. I felt different. Relaxed maybe? _Bella_ said I had a _zen_ quality about me when she left this morning. I laughed at her and told her to stop getting high and reading Eastern philosophy. Regardless, it seemed like my whole paradigm had shifted. I felt peaceful, ready to face what lay ahead. It was clear now that each experience, good or bad, physical or emotional, added to the fibre of my being.

I would no longer wait for life to come to me; I was reaching out for it myself. With my new found aplomb, I prepared for New York. It would be a dichotomy for me. Days spent breaking out of my _Edward_ shell as an actor and nights spent entrusting myself to her. Without question, the next few months would change me in ways I had yet to comprehend.

End Note: Chapter 8 is well underway and I am hoping it will only be a couple of weeks until it is ready. (There will be 2 more chapters and an Epilogue). But you won't have to wait past February 26 for something new from me - I will be the guest author on the Friday Free For All series on Twilighted, hosted by the lovely and talented Ninapolitan. Thank you again for sticking with me. I really do have the best readers in the fandom.


	8. Crime and Punishment

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who pitched in on this chapter. Without question, it never would have made it to the keyboard if it wasn't for Songirl. She is the light that shines around me and lets me see the important things in life. Her birthday is the Ides of March so if you have time, wish her a happy day! A great present might even be to read her beautiful story Northern Lights and Whiskey Lullabies - and leave her a review. I guarantee if you like Anonymous, you will adore NL&WL. Her words are symphonic. The link to her story is on her profile.

Also, to MaBarBarella and Claire for their unwavering support. To the hoors on the e-mail thread, I love you. Hard.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it - is to go see Remember Me. I'ts Rob. And It's amazing. And you can giggle thinking about what he may have been doing in NYC when he wasn't on set. . .

Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level for this chapter: 5 (Hey, I moved up a grade - again! Yay, lol)

CONTENT WARNING: If you've made it this far, I'm assuming you know the drill.

DISCLAIMER/COPYRIGHT: Mostly not mine. The jacked up psychological plot? That is mine and I'd love it if you didn't steal it.

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The Anonymous Series

Chapter 8

Crime and Punishment

"And eventually I understood, with all that control, which was probably illusory, I wasn't progressing. So now I'm relinquishing a bit. I'll be a tiny bit naked."

- Robert Pattinson

Details Magazine, March 2010

* * *

ITALY

Spring 2009

It was over. We'd finished shooting New Moon. If only for a few months, I was free from the cloak of the beast that had breathed a different life into my body. I could do other things, be someone else. And I decided that for the next few weeks I would likely be a little schizophrenic, as my psyche morphed between Tyler and Submissive. For now though, I was just Rob. And I was hard as a fucking rock thinking about getting back to New York.

Lying on my side, I curled slightly inward. That position allowed me to better sense my body's responses and changes. Once I became accustomed to simply stroking myself and then stopping, I decided to work on different stimuli. Tonight it was the touch of silk. As much as I wanted to use women's lingerie, I couldn't bring myself to buy some. That just seemed too creepy, even for me. So I improvised with a remnant piece of raw silk I'd managed to procure from the wardrobe trailer. I was amazed at the texture. I presumed that silk would be soft and soothing, kind of sleek and smooth. It's quite the opposite, really.

The fabric was wrapped loosely around my fist and tucked into the ends at my palm. It felt cool against my skin, but the texture was more substantial than I imagined. It felt a bit grainy as it pulled across my knuckles. The fibers seemed to strain against themselves to separate as I tugged it over my belly and down my thighs. My imagination magnified the coarseness, and it felt like a loose weave on a loom; like my skin could sink in between the threads; like super fine sandpaper, only with a cooling sensation.

I opened my legs and pulled the material across my hips and over my cock. With my eyes closed, the combination of pressure, lubrication and textures felt the same as being inside her. The slick and smooth feeling that resonated with only the slightest sense of the grooves of her most intimate flesh. The friction was intense, much different than when it was just skin on skin. I gave in to the feeling and stretched my legs out, opening up my hips and using longer, firmer strokes. There was just a hint of warmth as I moved the fabric faster over my skin.

The sting started in my belly, as always, pushing up toward my chest and down into my hips. I knew this was only the beginning. I'd become very attuned to the stages now; the steps my body followed as I approached a climax. The tingling usually lasted a minute or two before it grew into a faint burn. My body would start tensing as my grip got tighter. My pulse usually quickened as a warning bell, just before my chest tightened. At that point, I always got a little harder as the blood poured into my cock, firming up my flesh and flaming my senses. This was the point I usually stopped, always afraid I couldn't find my way back if I moved to the next level. Tonight I wanted to go a little further, to push myself in both mind and body. My mind had been ready for this for a while, it was my body that had been lagging. I was going to try, though. The thought of being able to orgasm without losing my erection was too tempting. _Imagine the possibilities. _

As soon as I felt the flames at the base of my cock, I stopped moving and wound the silk around my firm flesh, pulling it taut. With my makeshift cockring, I held that position, just on the brink, and imagined she was lying next to me. She was on her back with her knees open, her fingers gliding over her sex, slipping in and out. I could smell the tart liqueur as she coated her breasts with it. I could picture her hair falling loosely over her neck and shoulders, curling slightly around her chin. Her mouth was open and her lips were shiny, as she vocalized her pleasure. Those sounds pulled me toward the end. I could feel it building, but I held still, pushing the physical reaction away, pulling the emotions toward the surface. The image continued playing in my mind; she was looking at me, caressing herself, encouraging me. I pictured her eyes boring into mine, the gentle cadence of her voice praising me, until finally, something snapped and I felt my chest break open and my hips burst into flames. I surrendered myself and squeezed my eyes tighter, waiting for the explosion of fluid signaling my defeat. Only, it never came. No pun intended.

I did it. _I fucking did it._ _I_ was spent, but my cock wasn't. Unfuckingbelievable. As euphoric as I was, there was a small piece of me that wished she were here to share this with me. I felt a little like a piano student who gives a recital without their teacher. But I also realized that this was a triumph of my own making. Certainly, she had given me the tools, and encouragement; but the success was mine, and mine alone. That thought was more empowering than the feat itself.

The confidence I had developed in the past few weeks, especially the two weeks without her, had made me realize that control is illusory; it's part of our imagination, the projection of what we hope our reality is. Until we grasp that concept and put control in it's rightful place on our list of priorities, we cannot control anything nor can we be controlled. In short, we cannot give up what we don't have to begin with.

***

NEW YORK CITY

Spring 2009

I'll admit I was scared to fucking death about the whole playroom thing. We spoke briefly by telephone once I was in New York to confirm the time and place. I want to say her voice was excited, but that was likely a reflection of my own.

"Do not worry, my pet. The playroom is not a part of us, it is simply an implement, a tool we can use to expand our work, to make it something stronger, something better. Trust me, the pleasure that is possible with the right equipment is beyond anything you've yet to imagine."

Again, and not to my surprise, she was correct. Just being in the playroom gave me a sense of higher standing; it made everything more, I don't know, real. Like we had just been practicing to this point and now we would actually be _doing_. She would tell me later that in some ways this was true, but that our psychological work to this point had been the foundation and none of the physical would matter without that. It was becoming clear now, both pieces were fundamental.

My head was bowed, depriving me of most visual stimulation. Her smell was almost palpable though. Her perfume enveloped me. It pulled me back to visions of hotel rooms and telephone calls and my calloused hands pulling and pushing and grating over my skin. I was hovering somewhere between my thoughts and the current scene. I'm sure that was her intention; depriving me of most tactile sensations gave me more freedom of thought.

I was naked, on my knees, surrendered before her. My ankles were shackled together. She'd never used shackles before. They felt heavy. The straps always seemed more _restrictive_ rather than _constricting_; more reward than punishment. The shackles felt more like the latter. Again, this was only my perception.

"So, my pet," she said caustically. "Have you had some time to consider your indiscretion?"

As if I'd fucking answer her.

"You may nod."

I nodded. Once. I wasn't risking any action that might set her off. I was determined that I would _never_ fuck up that bad again.

"And do you now realize how serious a breach that was?"

I didn't fucking move.

"You may nod."

Again, one and only one nod. I was waiting for the whip to come out. For something violent to happen. That's what I deserved, right?

"Excellent. You may greet me properly then."

_What_?

My brain was still stuck on the idiot channel but luckily my body knew what to do. She was right in front of me. I rose up slightly, keeping my head down and taking her wrists in my hands. I kissed her fingers in reverence and then laid them gently at her side, returning then to my position. She seemed pleased with my actions.

She told me later why she hadn't really punished me physically.

"With you, the psychological punishment is much harsher. I take it you had a difficult time those two weeks with no contact from me?"

That was putting it mildly. "It was torture, Mistress."

"Is it something that has made you carefully consider your actions? Modified your behavior perhaps?"

I nodded my agreement.

"Then I think the punishment was completely appropriate," she said smugly. "Your personality does not lend itself to physical determent. You internalize everything, analyze it, brood over it. That is where I can effectively discipline you, by letting you think about it." She stopped for a moment, reaching out and softly touching my face. Her voice was much more quiet, as if she were telling me something sad. "If I let you, you will punish yourself more than I ever could. But I want you to remember that this is not about tearing you down, it is about building you up, bringing out the trust and confidence inside and helping you to learn to use that in different ways."

She leaned back and some of the tenderness left her voice. "We've been working on the psychological side of this for so long that I feel it it time to shift our focus to the physical side. I need to remind you that your actions could always have repercussions; and that as a submissive, your body is mine to do with as I see fit. If I choose, I can punish you at will."

With that statement, my testicles crawled up inside my body. I tried to focus on the fact that I didn't hate _some _punishments. The spanking she gave me early on? That wasn't bad. _At all. _ This time she flogged me. The flogger had short brown leather tassels hanging from what looked like a hand carved, wooden handle. It was quite beautiful actually. As always, she carefully explained what was going to happen as she made her preparations. She was adamant that I understand that this was not really punishment; that rarely, if ever, would she do something strictly for the sake of discipline and never solely for the sake of pain.

She was changing my concepts of punishment, of pain and most certainly of pleasure. The cognitive dissonance I once suffered in some scenes was replaced with an absolute calm and an appetite for new experiences. I could finally open up and let her turn my perspective on things inside out. And instead of fighting it, I would enjoy it.

***

Blindfolded and on my knees in front of a massive rack covered in various hooks and connectors, my wrists were bound and the ends of the leather straps were tied to hooks at the top of the rack. She pulled the them so I was stretched at the torso, my arms taught above my head. I felt her behind me, softly stroking the backs of my thighs.

"Did you miss this, my pet?"

"Yes, Mistress." I was allowed to respond during this scene. She said she wanted to hear my thoughts and reactions to what we were doing. I couldn't see her, of course, but she was always there. She took her time, talking to me; preparing me. There were teasing quips as she slipped the cockring on; and quiet whispers of reassurance as she introduced the anal beads. My _shopping list _had included similar things and, per her instructions, I used them on occasion. Everything felt a little strange, even a bit deviant, when I was alone; but when we were together, with her confidence and encouragement, there were no fathomable boundaries.

"This is still a mild punishment, just a gentle reminder of our dynamic, but I do not want you to forget that my desire is always for you to experience pleasure at some level." Her hands moved up, massaging my lower back, then slipping down between my cheeks. She tried to tell me how it would feel, but there is nothing that could have properly described it. Her statement about the pleasure didn't make complete sense, until the first strike of the flogger hit my ass. The vibrations of the anal beads alone were enough to make me rock hard; but when the smack of the flogger made me clench in response, it was as though they crawled into my skin and lit my nerve endings on fire.

I wasn't allowed to ejaculate; those were her exact words. So if I were able to orgasm without ejaculating, there was no limit to the number of orgasms I could have. I'd been practicing and I told her as much. I had willpower and my focus was better than before but the intensity of this would easily consume every ounce of control I had. I suppose the cock ring helped.

"Eight," I grit out through my teeth. The pressure was amazing. My entire body felt like it could explode at any moment.

_SMACK._ "Nine," I spit out, exhaling loudly. Then the last strike hit me, square, but with little more force than a tap. "Ten," I said in a stage whisper, unconsciously reacting to the strength of the stroke.

Even blindfolded I knew she was still there, close to me. I could feel the warmth radiating off her body, and I could picture her, likely kneeling by my side, ghosting her fingers over my skin, breathing in the sexual tension that filled the air. Just knowing she was there, always in control, with me at her mercy; it was one of the most complicated feelings I've ever experienced. Arousal, fear, trepidation, excitement, anger, joy, pride; and it all blended into a single moment.

I could hear the soft friction between skin as she traced the shell of my ear with the tip of her finger. My senses focused on the solitary point of contact as she carefully moved across my skin, like she was outlining my body. I was drawn to that connection, eagerly anticipating the next line she chose; delighting in the simple things like a minute change in pressure. I believed I could feel the difference in pressure when she moved from the taught muscles in my thighs up to the softer, more yielding flesh of my belly.

"Do you remember my instructions?" Her voice slipped over me like honey, like a thick protective coating.

I responded with as little movement as possible, barely nodding.

"Good. I want to test your training then." Her fingers were gliding across my hip, slowly pushing toward my cock. "I'm going to remove the cock ring." I could hear the smirk in her voice. "And then provide a little extra encouragement. And we'll see how far you've come." She chortled at her own pun.

Just the simple feel of her fingers as she removed the cock ring shook me. The brush of her hands was so much _more_ in contrast to the simple touch of her finger. I tried to concentrate, to center my mind and pull the stimulation to my core where I could manage it.

My body relaxed as she freed my hands from the straps, allowing me to lean back on my heels.

"I will provide some audible stimulation, my pet," she said quietly as she stroked my hair. I could feel the slip of her fingers across the blindfold as she continued. "You may do whatever you need to, except you may not touch _me_."

Her words were not meant to be harsh and they came across as giving and generous, allowing me the freedom to do this _for her_. Those thoughts grounded me as I flexed my fingers and wrists, erasing the tensions from the straps. I felt them warm as the blood flowed freely through them once again. I didn't feel the callouses or the roughness as I gripped my cock. I felt only flesh and heat and sentience.

Her voice was melodic as always. "I missed you during our time apart."

The sentiment was mutual but the words were unexpected.

"I must admit that our phone calls were as much for me as for you."

I was burning from the inside as her voice gave me strength and fed not only my desire but my ego as well.

"There were times that I found it so stimulating I couldn't help but touch myself."

The images I'd had during our phone calls burst before me. I saw her lying on a bed, her satin robe open, her hand between her thighs, eyes closed. The feelings began to spiral from the very apex of my being.

"Your voice," she said softly. "It would sing to me. It would fill me with the diary of our times together."

The silence of the room was broken only by the reticent notes our bodies made as we pleasured ourselves. Images of what she may look like at that moment pushed the growing flare of my zenith toward my extremities.

"I couldn't help but recall thoughts of your body and how it gratified me, both at my command and at your will."

The sensation gripped me, fiercely wrapping me in its fleece. I knew my hands were stroking, sliding across my flesh but they were separate now, distinct as I exploded from the inside.

There was a haze that followed. I remember her running her fingers through my hair and quiet words falling on my ears. There was comfort, a blanket maybe, as satiation blended with fatigue, lulling me to sleep. I could make out only one word as I drifted from consciousness.

"_Beautiful_."

***

There was a sense of peace. A meeting of the minds. We talked about how our time together would be different from this point on. She commented on my psychological development; lauding my progression in recent weeks. She explained that was the basis for any level of intimacy, to trust in yourself before giving trust to another. I was confident now, and I was comfortable settling into this dynamic as a student and not a dependent. I expressed my desire to move forward and she agreed, explaining how she, too, felt we had reached a new level. It felt good to have a conversation where I wasn't defensive about my position. I took that as yet another sign of my growth.

She admitted that, given the last several phone sessions, she anticipated our new standing. With that slightly coy declaration, she presented me with a new collar. She described it as a "training" collar; the second step in a Dominant/submissive relationship. She likened it to a promise ring; a commitment to invest ourselves in one another but not a vow of unconditional obligation. The new status came with new expectations, and new possibilities.

A Training Collar signifies that the Dominant may now move into other areas of training and discipline and can often demand higher standards from the submissive than before. The submissive, on accepting a training collar, should have a good understanding of what is required. The collar is also a symbol of the devotion and commitment the submissive has for the Dominant. At this state, there can often be conflicts in the minds of both the Dominant and the submissive. The Dominant now has the added responsibility of this particular submissive, and it general curtails exploration of other submissives. The submissive can struggle to reconcile their mind to submission, and their commitment to one person.

Subconscious testing of the relationship's strength is often an underlying current, as both parties want to see how strong the commitment is. Insecurities and doubts are brought to attention, and often raise their ugly heads when there is no need. These elements must be faced and conquered if the relationship is to move to the next and final step. Honesty and trust are paramount in any relationship, but more so at this stage as this is the final stop before deciding whether to take that ultimate step in the partnership.

Also with the collar came a discussion of limits. We discussed that I had yet to use my safeword or even indicate that I was uncomfortable with the physicality of our time together. There were points, I suppose, when I may have been disquieted by something we did, but to me that was a large part of the whole exercise. If I wasn't willing to expand my own physical comfort zone, what new experiences were there to look forward to?

She was encouraged by my response. Prior to this discussion, she said she worked under the presumption that my limits would be parallel to what seemed "socially acceptable." She didn't present me with a list of _activities_ but just said that she would introduce new things slowly. Her voice was stern when she established a new safeword system. Red, yellow and green were commonly used in the world of BDSM and for good reason. They allowed the participants the freedom to resolutely shift the parameters of the relationship.

As expected, _red_ would stop the scene completely; _yellow_ would slow its progression; and when I said _green, _she would intensify our activities. She asked me if there was anything I could think of that I believed was a true limit. I laughed and did express an aversion to anything that dealt with bodily functions, apart from orgasms. There was a hint of humor in her voice as she was quick to agree and explain that those particular fetishes were in their own subset of BDSM participants. Apparently there were no strict definitions of what BDSM was or a list of motivations for seeking out such a lifestyle. There are those that need the power of dominance, or need to relinquish their own power; and still others who needed the pain, perhaps to escape something Although we did not discuss our own impetus, it was clear that they were complimentary.

She then asked how I felt about multiple participants in the scene. She reminded me of the other submissive she had introduced but that scene had not really included me. I think she expected me to joke about young males and threesomes or something like that. Instead, I pondered her inquiry seriously. Obviously, I was not adverse to a female sub joining us but her question was clearly intended to include the potential for male subs coming along for the ride.

How _did_ I feel about that? I answered honestly that I wasn't sure. Without explaining the circumstances, as that would be a clear violation of the rules, I told her that I had a modicum of physical experience with other males. She raised an eyebrow, and I could swear she was going to ask me about the situation. She did ask me how much skin on skin contact there had been, but that was it. As pleased as she seemed about my openness with the subject, she told me that it would be a while before that was truly a consideration. I was quite relieved to hear that since I hadn't had a serious conversation with myself about that being a limit.

And so there we were, standing in the middle of the playroom. I took the collar from her outstretched hands. I ran my fingers over the supple black leather, testing the weight, admiring the relief of the singular Celtic knot embedded in the front and thinking of the symbolism and reality in the large silver buckle in the back. It was beautiful. It was beautiful not only for what it was physically, but for what it represented. A new plateau, a new starting point for us; a new freedom to push the boundaries of not only our relationship but our own individual limits as well. That is what I saw in this; a chance to evolve, to find another dimension inside of myself. The confidence I had developed in the past few weeks, especially the two weeks without her, had made me realize that there is give and take in all things and in order to gain something, I would always need to surrender something in return.

"Mistress?"

"Yes, my pet,"

"If it pleases you, would you permit me the honor of wearing your collar?"

The smile was in her voice and on her face. "That would please me greatly."

With that, I kneeled before her and reverently presented the collar back to her, bowing my head and holding it above me for her taking. I felt the leather slip through my fingers as she grasped it. As I dropped my hands to my sides, she instructed me to look at her. I complied and watched as she kneeled down in front of me, opening the buckle on the collar.

"I kneel with you now as an assurance that we are equals in this journey; a hope that we each bring a sincere desire to sacrifice of ourselves what we must, and accept from the other what we need. I give you this collar willingly, as a sign of my commitment in these goals. Again, as a promise that we are equals in this journey."

I choked up a little at her beautiful words. Here was someone who knew nothing _worldly_ about me; someone who had taken the time to nurture my mind and engage my body. With an unparalleled objectivity, she was giving of herself and I would gladly do the same

"And I willingly accept your collar as a symbol of our devotion; to give of myself freely and to accept without question that which is given; also as a promise that we are equals in this journey."

The leather felt cool against my skin; my ears filled with the gentle ping of the buckle and the quiet crinkling of the leather as she fastened it. She ran her fingertips over the collar as she stood up and I instinctively bowed my head, awaiting her instruction.

"There is much symbolism in a collar." I didn't look, but I sensed her moving around the room, toward the bed if my bearings were correct. "When it is fastened, there is no beginning and no end," I heard the rustle of fabric, the bed linens perhaps. "Yet when it is undone, there is an abrupt start and finish to it. Each of these serve a purpose, not the least of which is to suggest the duality that holds the universe together. Two sides to everything; for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. These principles are what guide us."

She instructed me to rise and join her. I was correct that she had moved to the bed and adjusted the linens so she was sitting atop them. She waited until I was situated in front of her, mirroring her position with my legs crossed and hands resting on my knees.

"The duality is infinite," she continued. "Take for example, heaven and hell; earth and water. Another expression is the existence of both males and females. The same, but different, and yet both are necessary to perpetuate the species. I'm sure you can recall from your studies of Taoism that they tend to align Yin with the feminine and Yang with the masculine. It is the coupling of these pieces that creates something greater than the individual; a symbiotic generation, infinite in its continuity, seeking its proper place in the universe."

Her body unfurled as she spoke, leaning toward me; her hands finding my body and silently instructing me to lie in contraposition to her. I quickly grasped the significance of our locus and softly brushed my fingers along her thighs, almost drowning in the affection as she laid her head on my hip. There were no instructions and it was clear that this was not a scene but an exposition of the promise to remain equals in this.

It had been ages since we'd gratified each other orally and I wasn't sure if we had ever done so concurrently. We both used the variances in textures between the intimate flesh, the tongues, the teeth, the fingers, the palms, working to stimulate one another. There was no power struggle; it was mutual in every sense of the word. We rose together as I felt the pull toward release, pushing myself to give her everything I could. Then I remembered. I remembered her body, I remembered what she _needed_. I stilled myself, smoothing my lips against her in the most intimate manner, pressing my tongue just _there_. I focused my energy not on my own pleasure, but on her needs, her desires.

I heard her sigh and felt the gentle shivers of her orgasm deep down into her. With a renewed focus she found my weak spot and was relentless in her efforts to cut the string on my restraint. Moments later we had both succeeded.

As I lay there spent, with my chin on her belly, enjoying the satiated glow that radiated from her face, I gathered the courage to make my query. I was hesitant but my curiosity outweighed my reluctance. "Mistress, may I ask a question?"

She was again softly stroking my hair as she answered casually. "Yes, you may."

"Was this, um, collar," I paused, clearing my throat, "from one of your other, um. . ."

"No." Her voice was quiet and sincere. She raised her head, settling her eyes on mine with no attempt to hide the genuine smile on her face. "I had it made especially for you."

Another expression of her affection and allegiance; an example of her giving herself to me. The shadows in my mind disappeared and I could see clearly that my _willingness_ to submit was much more important than my actions in submitting. It was the psychological giving that exemplified the dominant submissive relationship. Until that point, I had the two, the corporeal and the cerebral, just slightly overlapping, connecting at a few points. Now it was clear they were not only connected, they were one and the same.

Brimming with confidence, and with a new understanding of my needs and the dynamic I had with her, and proudly wearing my new collar, I slept as soundly as I had in months, on the floor at her bedside.

* * *

End Notes: Okay, I know I said this would likely be the last chapter. Well, it's not. These two won't STFU and have some more dirty stuff they want to do each other while they ponder how fucking smart they are. So I have to let them do it, otherwise they don't let me sleep. I don't do well with sleep deprivation. It will likely be one more regular chapter and then the Epilogue. If you stick with me, I will do my best to make it worth your while. After all, I do have the most fantastic readers in the fandom. Love, Sin


	9. Long Day's Journey Into Night

CONTENT WARNING: If you've made it this far, I'm assuming you know the drill.

DISCLAIMER/COPYRIGHT: Mostly not mine. The jacked up psychological plot? That is mine and I'd love it if you didn't steal it.

Many thanks, as always, to Songirl, Claire and Marcia. You ladies keep me smiling even when I don't want to J

Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level for this chapter: 4

The Anonymous Series

Chapter 9

Long Day's Journey Into Night

"Ghandi said, whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it's very important that you do it."

-Tyler Hawkins, _Remember Me_

A fucking day off. Seriously. An entire day to do nothing, or anything. Okay, well, I do have a meeting late this afternoon but that's nothing compared to sixteen hours on set. It would be fucking awesome if I could actually leave my hotel. Honestly, though, these past few weeks have been so exhausting, I'm thinking I should just try to catch up on my sleep. I haven't been doing much of that lately. At least not alone. Okay, well that isn't really a fair statement. I mean, _sleep_ is a very strong word. I've been working most days, all day, and then I'm with _her_ all night. I now see the efficacy in sleep deprivation as a torture technique. But she doesn't sleep much so neither do I.

I get to see _her_ three or four times a week. It's fucking amazing. I don't know how she does it. Obviously I don't know what she does for a living, but she leaves earlier than I do in the mornings and I'm usually back at my hotel by 7am to avoid the paps and fans. I never see her on the weekends though. I don't know if that bothers me. Maybe it doesn't. We've never discussed the fact that we don't see each other on the weekends and I guess I never question it when she tells me our next meeting time. She usually just tells me a day and time and asks if I'm available. If there is one lesson that I _have _learned, it is not to question her, or offer any more information than is absolutely necessary.

This thing has been fucking with my psyche from the beginning. But now I can feel my body changing too. It's like physical training in a way. My body is becoming accustomed to the lack of sleep and to the unique demands of this _program._ Most of the time, I feel exhilarated rather than deprived; like my body is becoming more efficient. I've noticed that when I do sleep, it's deep and intense: dreamlessly recharging and regenerating every cell of my being. She knows this is a change for me and continually asks about my well being, always concerned. I've told her that I'll be leaving again in a few weeks and she wants to use the time we do have to strengthen the physical rapport between us. I've realized that the physical proximity is important to me. Her psychological advocacy has certainly helped me the past few months, but I've realized that I want all of the pieces of the puzzle at once. I want _more._

Now that I'm thinking about it, it does bother me about the weekend thing. What does she do? Where does she go? Maybe it doesn't bother me. Maybe I'm just selfish and always want more, even if its just a _little_ more. It's strange. I feel like I know so much about her, that I can sense her moods by the changes in her body, but then I stop and realize that there are so many things I _don't_ know about her. Like her fucking name, for example. I suppose that stopped being weird a long time ago, but when I do think about it, I picture this whole other life for her that doesn't include me. I know, that's hypocritical since there is a huge part of my life that doesn't include her, but this is one thing I can't seem to pull out of her head. And she has certainly made it clear that these two parts of her life are mutually exclusive, completely discrete. There are times that I feel like a guest in her life and she's told me not to open the bathroom cabinet or the drawers in the dresser. I have to respect her direction, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious.

I realize that no one person can give us all of the pieces at once. Everyone is unavailable in some form. Whether they are a strong physical part of our lives or more cerebral, everyone is guarded in some way. Exposing yourself completely to another person is risky. Our sense of self preservation kicks in and we hold something back, a piece that we feel would make us vulnerable if put in the hands of another. Part of me wants to give her every piece ,but the reality is that she wouldn't take it even if I tried.

This brings me back to the concept of _more_. I've spent the past couple of years not wanting _anything_ really, relationship wise. Although that feeling was likely fueled by fear and necessity, fear that people aren't sincere with me and just want to use me for one purpose or another coupled with a sincere lack of any fucking time for a relationship. Now that I've sampled a certain level of intimacy, I can feel the place where that piece is missing: that_more_ that I want; that _more_that I need. So the answer is yes; I am selfish and want a little more. Just a little more.

She was right. Big fucking surprise, I know. This was so different than what we were doing before. I mean, the physical encounters we'd had before. It was just as intense as the phone stuff and almost as often. But the sexual stuff before, at random times and unpredictable intervals, was so trivial compared to the things she's been teaching me.

The first thing that's different is that we usually spend the whole night together. Until my second collar, we had never spent the whole night together. She always left. Sometimes I stayed in the room, sometimes I went back to my own hotel. But it was never more than a few hours at a time that we were together. Now? This? This was extraordinary.

_She's lying on the chaise in the playroom. Naked, on her stomach, with her slim arms folded under her cheek. A small smile is playing on her lips as she looks up at me, her brow lifted just slightly, telling me that she's feeling mischievous. It's those little things that I notice now. Things about her I've never really thought about before. These small fragments of her being, seemingly insignificant in the light of day, that tell me more about her than any biography ever could. _

_I'm kneeling at her side; wearing my collar, soft cotton pajama pants and leather cuffs on my wrists. She said those were for later. Her body is spread out before me and I notice once again how tiny she really is. From this position, I imagine my wingspan could cover her height from head to toe. My brain flips through a virtual photo album and realize that when we're standing next to each other, she's usually towering in her heels so it makes sense that I lose perspective. Then there's her psychological posture that is about eight feet tall. I smile a little to myself as the sound of her voice draws me back to the present. _

_My instructions are to massage her. To listen to her words and her body; both the tone and the expression in every tiny candid measure. We've continually worked on non-verbal communication and she says I'm getting there. Now, her words are layered upon her gestures and I'm supposed to interpret the entirety to bring her the most pleasure. Yes, mistress._

_Her voice is melodic; sometimes dulcet, other times firm and confident. She's guiding me around her body; pulling me in to her psyche. The first thing I notice is how soft she is, not just her skin, but the feel of her all around. Her body is smooth and ample and my fingers can almost sink into her flesh with just the barest of touches. She's stunning on so many levels. She's taught me so much about her body and females in general, and demanded I learn about my own body as well. _

_"First, we must understand ourselves, only then can we hope to understand others." _

_I get it. I really do. If we can't communicate to another our own true physical desires, how can we derive pleasure? How can we give pleasure? The sad answer is that most people play sexual roulette, hoping they hit the right number with their partner. _

_"Just a little higher," she whispers passively. I move my fingers up to her calf, just below her knee. When we started, I could feel the tautness in her muscles. I smile because I can hear the progression in her voice as I work to chase that tension from her body. The timbre of her voice is smoother now; the cadence is less clipped. There's a flow to her words now and a mirth projecting around me. _

_Her skin is smooth and I can smell the faint hint of citrus lingering from her perfume. My hands are sliding over her thighs, stretching her skin and delving into her flesh. She slowly opens her thighs a little, sighing as she settles them back against the smooth grain of the leather furniture. Simple cues, guiding me, asking me to please her. The tips of my fingers graze her hips, moving inward, ghosting over her, teasing her. She's on her belly so the angles are a little different than I'm used to; she senses I'm trying to compensate. _

_"Use it to your advantage." Her words are soft but confident; comforting and inspiring. Her skin seems to shimmer as my fingers ghost over her bottom, between her legs. I use my other hand to draw lines on either side of her spine, changing the pressure as I sense her reactions. She's moving gently into my touch and I can sense her need for more; I break my silence to insure she gets it._

_Without stopping my ministrations, I lean down, hovering around her neck, softly breathing over her. Her scent is everywhere, the warmth of her body pushing it into the air just like a fragrant candle. "You want something." It doesn't come out like a question, but I think she knows what I'm looking for._

_"Yes." She raises her hips a little but arches her back toward the floor. She looks like cat, stretching after a long morning nap. She pulls her knees up, gracefully raising her hips, then pushing back against my hand, deepening the penetration. My fingers are splayed against her, framing her sex. Moving slowly against me, she whispers firmly, "Trust your instincts."_

_She's so languid in front of me; a slow blur of skin and warmth and soft sounds and intense sensations. I finally get it and with a simple twist of my hand, my thumb slips in and she moans, pushing her shoulders up, leaning on her elbows. I'm giving her __more. Her chin drops toward her chest and I hear soft words leaving her lips as she lets me know she's enjoying the fullness. We're moving together, my hand and her body, slowly, toward the same goal. She's holding herself just above the leather and I can see her breasts as they sway. I slip a hand into that slim space between her body and the chaise, letting her nipples simply graze my palm. I can feel them tighten and I watch the flush as it slowly spreads down her back; the blood flowing to the surface of her skin, pushing a warmth into the air. _

_I stop moving but she continues; hastening the ingress, forcing my fingers deeper. I can feel her clenching, gripping hungrily from the inside. My body tenses with hers as I watch her climb toward her pinnacle. Turning her face to me, she slows a bit, opening her eyes. Her face is glowing, and drowsy with lust. She's beautiful. _

_"Touch yourself." Her words are commanding; an expression of her desires. She wants me to derive pleasure, and she tells me often that watching me only heightens hers. This is about mutual care and respect. It not about the act itself, or the history with a partner, it's about being in the moment and responding to each others' needs__in__that moment._

_She gives me a lazy smile when I pull my hand away from her breasts and slide it down my chest. I'm scratching my nails over my body, making slight red marks that stand out against my pale skin. The cotton of my pants slips away easily and my cock fills my grip. We stare at each other and share a knowing smile, listening to the quiet sounds our bodies make, moving toward that small, comfortable space where there is nothing between us but tactile fruition. _

It was one of the hardest scenes I'd done as an actor. Pulling up emotions and actions that convey your hatred for one thing, your love for something else, all manifesting itself as sexual rage. How the fuck do you do that? To this day, I'm still not sure I know. The only thing I really remember from that scene was the phantom sting in my hand when I shoved Emilie against the wall. Even days later, it lingered. I'd feel it when I'd touch myself, when I'd touch Emilie, when I'd touch _her_. It was unnerving but comforting at the same time.

_I'm not sure when it happened. The epiphany came, but it didn't hit me squarely. I think it snuck up on me. By the time she kneeled before me, I'd gotten__it. The entirety of it, the draw, the significance, what people saw in it -__all__of it. The reason that this whole, I don't know,__world, the whole Bondage and Discipline or Dominance and Submission thing, was appealing. It was empowering. Jesus H. Christ, was it empowering. _

_I think I had been waiting for this. Waiting for something that would truly legitimize the__pain__ part of all of this. The other stuff I could relate to. It was what I was accustomed to; it was__normal, even. But the pain? That was not really on the normal side of things as far as most people were concerned. _

_My mind flashed back to the Rousseau she made me read. He very much enjoyed being spanked. I wouldn't say that I was particularly fond of being spanked, but I certainly didn't mind it. I quickly found out that it was an entirely different story when__I was the one doing the spanking. That, I realized, I__was fond of._

_She made me bind her. I say__made me only because I didn't really want to do it. Not the way she wanted to be bound, anyway. She was shackled to the wall of "hooks" in the playroom. The leather straps on her wrists were taut, her arms spread wide. I could see the striations in the muscles of her shoulders as she twisted before settling into position._

_Her ankles were also bound, only there were metal shackles instead of the straps. She did allow me to slide in the padded inserts, preventing the weighty metal from laying directly against her skin. Once again, I was taken back to the hotel room, to the window, and the drapery cords. I clearly recalled her words from that night, which seemed quite prophetic at this point. _

_"I was just thinking that you could be one hell of a Dom if I can make you forget you're British. . ."_

_After my panic attack subsided that night, she explained that it wasn't a propensity for violence or pain or anything like that which led her to suggest my turn as a Dominant. In fact, it was quite the opposite according to her. _

_"Your sincere desire to see to my well being lends itself more to a Dominant than it does a submissive. Those who are not familiar with the true dynamics would see the submissive as weak, and perhaps wounded. This is not the case, of course. The submissive has the easier position, assuredly, but they also hold all of the power. _

_"A true Dominant bends to the will of the submissive in all things. Yes, they will push the limits of the submissive, but for what purpose? To bring them pleasure. Yes, they will punish them, but again, to what end? So that they will serve their Dominant better and in turn, feel more accomplished as a submissive. _

_"This world is a dichotomy, but it is likely the opposite of what is commonly perceived. I can see your desire to nurture and care for people, to please them and learn from them; it is these characteristics that would serve you well as a Dominant."_

_Knowing that she wanted this, just like the night at the window, is what kept me going. I had no desire to see her in pain, but now that I understand that there was a part of her who__desired__pain, my only goal was to feed that desire. By giving her what she wanted, no, what she__needed, I was serving her as both a Dominant, but also as her submissive. This thought brought the cyclical nature of our relationship back around to its genesis._

_Warm up. That was very important. This was my chance to show her the intimacy I wanted to convey. My mind couldn't simply allow me to strike her and enjoy it. I stood directly behind her, our skin mere inches apart, and traced the ruffled edge of her lingerie. It was cotton and Nightwatch plaid. I smiled thinking about her comment as she got "dressed" while I watched. _

_"I'm sure you've had some naughty Catholic school girl fantasies, yes?"_

_I smiled and nodded. Everybody had those. If they said they didn't, they're lying. _

_"Good. Just bring those back from the dead and use that strengthen your resolve." _

_When she was ready, she came to me and laid an gentle hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes as I felt a wave of calm flow through me. "You are ready for this," she whispered. "Remember, we are equals in this; this is for both of us." With that she slowly dropped to her knees before me, bowing her head in submission._

_Her skin was getting warm. Instead of really smacking her, I was simply tapping her lightly; moving my hand around quickly. There was a pink tinge to her bottom and I could feel the blood beginning to flow to the surface, heating my hands. I increased the force of my blows incrementally; striking her several times at each interval. She was__so responsive; so malleable. Her body was loose despite her bindings. _

_Every so often I would smooth my hands over her skin; reminding her of the affinity between us. By the time I'd reached a moderate level, her sex was slick and swollen. I could feel the pinch of my skin against hers as they collided. There was a rhythm now, a fluidity to my strokes. The sensation was intensifying; I could feel the sting getting stronger as it moved through my fingers, pulsing into my wrists. That sting would stay with me for days afterward, and bring a random smile to my face whenever I thought about it. _

_I paused, moving closer to her. Leaning into her shoulder, I let my words float gently into her. "I'm going to release your wrists now." My hips were almost touching her and I could feel the intensity emanating from her, swaddling me in its warmth. Carefully, I loosened the straps, gently slipping her hands through and lowering them to her__sides. She was still shackled and blindfolded and the flush of her cheeks told me her arousal had not abated in the least. As I stood behind her, I leaned down and slipped the shackles from their hook but did not remove them from her ankles. _

_After slowly inspecting her wrists, gliding my fingers across her smooth skin, I was ready to move on. I gently dragged my hands up her arms to her shoulders, gripping the muscles and kneading them for a moment. When some of the tension had left her, I did something I'd never done before. I gave her a command._

_"Turn around to face me, and kneel." _

_I swear I saw a hint of a smirk on her face as she gracefully slid to the floor at my feet. She balanced herself carefully, sitting on her heels, of course, and placed her hands in her lap and her chin on her chest. I couldn't help myself. How many times had I thought about her hair? I had touched it, of course, many times__in the moment. But I had yet to feel as though I had a chance to truly appreciate it. Her hair was thick, and shiny but soft to the point of being sensuous. It moved across my hands like whispy threads of satin. _

_It was longer now, longer than I remembered. Had that much time really passed between us? Her hair fell through my fingers as I considered this. It had been quite some time; almost a year, actually. In some ways it seemed only a few weeks but on many levels, it felt like a lifetime. It was certainly a lifetime in the way I looked at things. There was a new perspective for me; I'd found some type of inner strength that I'd been missing in my travels. There were things that mattered now, that didn't before, and vice versa. For now, what mattered was__her. _

_"Have I ever told you how happy I am when we're together," I paused, debating my salutation carefully. It came quickly and quietly. "Mio bello segreto?"_

_The smile was clear now, no hiding, no hesitation in her voice. She__understood it. Of course she did. She couldn't hide the delight in her tone. "No,__master, you haven't."_

_Part of me was glad she was blindfolded because the grin on my face was most assuredly of the stupid variety. "I greatly enjoy our time together. It," again, I chose my words carefully, "pleases me very much."_

_"That is my goal,__master, to__please__you."_

_"Well then," I started, a little more firmly and hopefully a little playful, "then you can start by pleasing me, um," I stopped again; this was so against my nature but I knew it was what I wanted. "Orally."_

_"Whatever you wish,__master." With that, she ran her hands up the sides of my legs, brushing lightly against the soft fabric of my jeans. She couldn't see, of course, so she used her other senses to guide her. As her hands reached my hips, she pulled me closer, leaning in toward me and resting her forehead against my thigh. I could hear her, taking long, deep breaths, almost as if she were trying to pull my essense into her body. _

_She deftly undid the buttons on my jeans and slowly separated them from my body. Pushing them down just to the middle of my thighs, she smiled as her touch told her I was now bare before her. Again, she breathed in, nuzzling me. I was hard; not embarassingly so, but it was obvious that I was aroused. She teasingly slipped her tongue out and flicked it against the head, smirking the whole time. She even giggled a little. It was surprising. And adorable. _

_"You think that's funny, do you?"_

_She didn't say anything; she just__licked me and laughed again. Now she was just fucking with me, and not in the usual way. Maybe it was my mindset, maybe it was some power trip or maybe it was just a little pent up frustration that came out. I'm not sure__what__it was, but it came out. I grabbed her head roughly, wrapping some of her hair around my hand, pulling her flush with my body. _

_"Now isn't the time for__funny, mio bello." I saw her shoulders relax as she lowered her chin and opened her mouth. I didn't realize it until later that she had teased me on purpose, getting me piqued so I'd get in a frame of mind to do this properly. At that exact moment, though, she had accomplished her goal unbeknownst to me, and I focused only on what__I wanted. _

_"Wider," I hissed as I guided her lips over me. Instantly she took me in, enveloping me, savoring me. I could feel the slight texture on her tongue as she laved it over the head, pressing gently against the sensitive skin on the underside. There was just the right amount of strength in her mouth; and she was firm in her grip on my hips. The whole feeling was__sturdy. We were balanced together, and I knew that I could push__our__limits further. _

_We'd come full circle now. First, I was an outsider, then a submissive. As I studied and grew, we rose together as equals. Finally I was comfortable enough, secure enough in this odd situation, to be the Dominant. In a sense though, I was returning to the start. Being the Dominant means giving up the power to your submissive. When I began I had no idea I had the power as her sub and now I have no power as her Dom._

_There was a rhythm between us, in every sense of the word. I know she could feel the pulses of my heart, just as I sensed her discomfort when I gripped her head a little too firmly. It wasn't the touch that bothered her though, it was the sensory deprivation. She couldn't see and she couldn't speak, so muffling another sense was too much. I pushed the blindfold up with my thumbs as I continued moving against her. I wanted her to be comfortable. That was not only my job, it was my desire. And I wanted to see her eyes. If there was one thing she had taught me, it was that the eyes will never lie. _

"A man of destiny knows that beyond the hill lies another and another. The journey is never complete."

- De Klerk F.W. (of Nelson Mandela)

We're almost finished shooting _Remember Me._ It's been such an experience all around. I've met new people, learned _lots_of new things about acting, and about myself. I've developed a rapport with New York, I think. This movie isn't anything earth shattering, but it was definitely worth doing. The characters deserved a chance to tell their story. I only hope we did justice to their tale.

I'm pondering this as I'm headed to a meeting to sign the contracts for my next movie. Well, my next movie that isn't a _Twilight_ movie. It wasn't too long ago when I wasn't sure there was ever going to be _another_movie, let alone a _next_movie. Now, there's a next, and possibly a next, and likely another after that. There is a big part of me that is grateful to Edward Cullen; and there is a big part of me that wants to strangle him. Yet another example of Yin and Yang.

_Bel Ami_. I'm going to stretch myself professionally with this one. It's raunchy and sordid and sexual at every turn. I think some of the _Twilight_people, professionals and fans alike, choked a little when they realized what the film is about. _Good_.

I hate lawyers. Okay, I don't necessarily hate them, they just seem to make things more difficult than they need to be most times. But here I am, in a huge office building in the city, waiting for the lawyers to finalize the contracts so we can go over them. Stephanie and Nick usually do this before I get involved, but this needed to be done quickly so the filming schedule can be slated between the Twilight stuff I'm doing for the next couple of years. Thank god Stephanie's here, or I'm certain I'd fall asleep halfway through reading the contract.

We're sitting in a lobby of sorts. A small area with several office doors surrounding it. No windows, no elevator, no clear escape route. That makes me a little nervous. Stephanie is telling me about her meetings with these guys and how she's been impressed so far and they haven't managed to fuck anything up too bad. Yet.

I'm bouncing around, trying to dissipate my nervous energy. Something's nagging me but I can't place it. I slept well last night. I slept _very_ well last night, in fact. Both sated _and_ comfortable. But now there's a pit in my belly that won't go away.

We sit there for another half hour before an assistant comes over to tell us mister so and so will be with us in a few minutes. She offers us refreshments and I toy with asking for a shot of whiskey. Maybe something is wrong with the contract. I hope not. I really really want to do this movie. It's out of my comfort zone and has other actors in it that I'm looking forward to working with. In the end, I'm a good boy and don't ask for whiskey.

We hear voices coming through one of the doors and it opens to gentle tones and easy laughter.

"Lily, I'm really glad we could help you with this," I hear behind me.

"Me too, Jack. You can't imagine how grateful I am." That voice. I recognize that voice. Before I can stop myself, I turn toward the familiar sounds and there she is, shaking hands with this guy who obviously works for the firm. Then she's hugging him in a very familiar way.

Stephanie is already moving toward them. I want to reach out and stop her; I want to stop this whole thing from happening. It's not too late. It can't be too late. I can leave now and pretend I didn't see her, I can pretend I didn't hear her first name. _Lillian._ FUCK.

Instead, Stephanie and this Jack guy, who are apparently the best of mates now, are chatting aimlessly just a few feet away. My head is down and I can feel her eyes on me. I hear Jack introduce them and Stephanie calls me over. I close my eyes and sigh, resigning myself to this fate. I can't stop it now. It's done.

Seconds later I'm introduced to her, hesitantly shaking her hand when it's offered. "Rob, this is Lillian Whitten. Lily, this is Rob Pattinson."

I manage to make it through the meeting, and without vomiting even. I consider that a true feat of humanity but no one else seems to acknowledge it. When I sense we're about finished, I excuse myself to the lobby and pull out my phone. Nothing. Maybe that's a good sign.

Steeling myself, I open a new text and start punching in letters.

_I need to see you._

It takes only a moment for a reply.

_I'm sorry, but no. The rules are non negotiable._

I knew that was coming but it didn't make it hurt any less. I'm not above begging though.

_Please, Mistress._

I'm hoping for a reply but only half expect one.

_Hotel on Rivington. Lobby Bar. 7pm._

I let out the breath I've been holding since I shook her hand over an hour ago.

Mio bello segreto = My beautiful secret

Author's Note:

All that is left is the epilogue. Because I didn't want to torture you any more than I already have, you'll be glad to know it is already written. I'm going out of town Thursday morning for a very difficult four days in real life. I'll post it before I leave. It was always planned to end like this. Trust me when I say I want what's best for these characters as much as you do :)

Do me a favor? Either call or visit the people in your life that mean the most - and hug them or just tell them how much they mean to you. Much love and hugs to each of you.

Sin


	10. Epilogue Remember Me

The Anonymous Series

Epilogue - Remember Me_  
_

_"My advice to those who are about to begin, in earnest, the journey of life, is to take their heart in one hand and a club in the other." _

_- Josh Billings_

Lily's POV

"Here you are Mrs. Whitten," the bartender said as he carefully placed the tea service in front of me and poured a steaming cup from the antique ceramic pot. "Will there be anything else?"

"Not right now Jeffrey, but thank you."

"Yes m'am."

I watch him go back to the bar and slip behind the polished wooden barrier. It almost looked as though it could protect him from any enemy of war. Impenetrable. What I wouldn't give for that type of shield right now.

I shake my head as I sip my tea and mutter 'be careful what you wish for.' What the hell am I drinking tea for? After the day I've had I should be wallowing in bourbon or drowning in tequila. Then again, people like me don't do that, right? No, we don't. At least not in public.

I have everything. At least in the eyes of most people I do. I'm a successful professional. I have a luxurious Manhattan apartment that serves as my home during the week while I'm working. I have a house in the Hamptons where I spend most weekends letting my husband spoil me by cooking and generally taking care of me.

What more could I want?

In that question alone lies the gravamen of the situation.

Why the hell am I sitting here again? Oh, that's right. Because I'm breaking every rule I ever established in this little game I play called life. The rules I made to save myself from, well, myself. The rules I made because like everyone I know, I have little secrets that need to be protected. The problem is, my little secret has a name now. And of course, as my luck would have it, his face is apparently plastered on every billboard, magazine cover and computer screen from here to Istanbul. So much for anonymity.

I honestly had no idea. Yes, I suppose I do live in a cave of sorts. I spend my days appraising antiquities, researching, and brokering the deals the move the real things from one wealthy person to another. Pop culture rarely registers on my radar.

"Lily?"

My name falling from his lips shakes me to the bone but I don't react visibly. That would be a sign of weakness. I may be weak right now but he'll never see that. He can't. He has too much power already, even if he doesn't realize it. I nod my head toward the empty seat at the table and watch as the fabric of his dress shirt slides over his forearms as he pulls the chair out to sit. He won't look at me. I don't know where I find the nerve to stare at his face, but I do. But he won't look me in the eye. He focuses on his hands which are fidgeting in front him, elbows on the table. I smile to myself. Only I would think of that at a moment like this.

"I, um," he stammers. "As grateful as I am that you agreed to meet me, could I possibly trouble you," he says, looking around now. Nervously glancing back and forth out into the hotel lobby. He starts again, 'I mean, would you mind?"

I decided to save him from the awkward moment here. There would be enough awkwardness as the evening wore on. "I understand. Room 2218," I said as I discreetly slid a key card toward him. He reached out for it and swept his fingers over my hand. He paused sharply and it took me a moment to figure out why. My rings. He noticed my wedding rings. He came back to himself and with a curt nod, stood up and walked out of the bar.

I needed to finish my tea before I went to meet him. I motioned to Jeffrey and gave him the signal that I needed some acoutrements for my tea. Yes. Vodka would go nicely with my chai spice.

It had only been a matter of hours since I'd seen him. But he was different now. More mature. More masculine. His body seemed stronger, his mind sharper. His heart was the same however. How could something that big and pure improve? He was so graceful at times, though he likely didn't realize it. His features took on a subtle feminine quality that radiated passion and sincerity. It was easy to see that he commanded attention, without even trying. Knowing now what I did, it was even easier to see why he captivated everyone he met.

I'm listening to him with a sense of detachment. There is no question what must be done. _Res ipsa loquitor_. _The thing speaks for itself._ Unfortunately for him, he isn't accustomed to absolutes.

"You have no idea what I would give to relive this day," he sighed. "To do something, _anything_, that would just change our course by a few minutes." He's kneeling on the carpet at my feet, stripped to the waist and barefoot. Wearing his collar. He rests his chin against my hand, and slips his fingers reverently up my calves.

"I'll take anything, you know," he whispers. "Anything you're willing to give me. Any stolen moment. Any part of you."

I try once more to sound cold and detached. "Begging doesn't become you."

"I don't care what _becomes_ me right now," he bellows with authority. It is the sharpest I've ever heard him and it hits me at the core. His demeanor retreats a bit, "All I care about is _us_."

I don't want to say it. He doesn't want to hear it. But it has to be said. "There is no _us._"

He laughs as his grip on my thighs tightens. "Do you have any idea how much that would hurt if I thought for a second you meant it?" His eyes are sparkling and his cheeks are flush. This person, this man before me, is so alien to me. The confidence, the cynicism, the frustration, it all rolled off of him in waves. He was purposely letting me see the parts of him that I'd forbidden.

I turned away from his gaze and took a deep breath. The power he held, it felt infinite at that moment. Like he could solve the world's problems with the nod of his head. His tone is serious when he leans into my belly as if he were hiding from something. "Give me this," he begs again, softly. "Just this once?"

I look down at him now as he tugs at the fabric of my blouse. I slowly trace the line of his collar with my finger. He raises his chin defiantly. Steeling his eyes on me, he says the things _I _don't want to hear.

"This is more than a collar or a text message. It's more than a phone call or cheap fuck. It's much more than that and I won't let you dilute it by saying things you don't mean. Show me this is real. Show me that it's not my imagination. Please."

My resolve melts. I slowly slip my fingers behind his neck, digging my nails into his soft hair. His face falls as I carefully unbuckle his collar, pulling the leather away and lying it to my side. He thinks I'll deny him. He thinks I can resist him. I only wish he were right.

_The feel of his hands on my skin was foreign, yet so familiar. It was familiar because we'd been here so many times before. I knew the smoothness of his palms and the strength of his shoulders; the power of his thighs and the tenderness of his lips. It was foreign because we'd always been in a scene instead of just together. This wasn't a scene and this wasn't sex. He was trying to tell me everything but he didn't want to say the words. _

_He doesn't want this to end anymore than I do. But it must end. On some level, I know he'll accept that. _

He's asleep now. He looks so sweet. So innocent. Despite whatever _experiences_ he's had recently, he is still _very_ innocent. He's not too jaded yet. He's not yet weary of a stagnant life. He's not disillusioned by the harshness life throws at you at every turn. He's not like me.

He's been my escape for almost a year now. Not just my sexual escape but my emotional one as well. There have been so many times after our sessions that I'd leave and run back to my apartment and just breakdown. He represented everything that I used to be. Young, ambitious, motivated, eager to learn and experience everything. In a way I think I was trying to get that back vicariously. I think they call that a mid-life crisis.

I remember the night he sent me the text asking for help. The knot that fell into my stomach when I read the text was as big as the the empire state building. I didn't know what to think. The Domme part of me was miffed, the maternal part of me was worried and the wife part of me felt guilty for caring at all. I don't know why I didn't just ignore it. That's what I usually did when the subs got too close. I would gently push them away, usually into the clutches of another Dom. It was easier that way.

I never wanted to hurt Richard. He knows what goes on, encourages it even since he feels he can't 'give me what I need.' But that doesn't really make it easier. I thought that not knowing their names or anything about them would make it less real. And it did, for the most part. It did, until he came along. I've learned my lesson though. This is just evidence of how strong an attraction can be when you remove the judgments and prejudices that societal norms and expectations bring.

He is a special person and I only hope that he what he takes away from this is a desire to build relationships from the inside out and ignore societies' thoughts and projections about what he _should_ be.

Rob's POV

Looking back, I can see it clearly now. Like most things in my life, I was in a role, or trying to be in a role. I think I _wanted_ to be that, but for her, not me. She was right, of course, that it's not about taking, it's about giving. She gave so much more than she took and I took more than I probably deserved. But I honestly believed I was _giving_. If that's not a hypocrite I don't know what is.

She told me I could call her once in a while if I wanted. She also told me she would give me some contacts if I wanted to continue my training as a Dom. I would have to think about that. I'm not sure if it was the lifestyle, the intimacy, or just _her_ that pulled me in. Regardless, I'm grateful we'll still be in touch. I'm not sure how I'll think of her as time passes. Part of me would like to think of her as amazing lover that I shared some beautiful moments with and was then mature enough to develop a devoted friendship. Another part says that she is a favorite teacher whom you think fondly of when you're feeling nostalgic.

I hope she'll be a little bit of both.

Author's Note: So there you have it. I know not everyone will agree, but I feel they each got what they needed. (One of my favorite toasts is "We may not always get what we want, we may not always get what we need, but here's hoping we never get what we deserve.")

Now, for all of my loyal readers, who have been so patient with this craziness, I have a treat for you. I am going to let you all choose one outtake to be written. Well, less of an outtake and more a different POV. I am offering any one of the chapters, 1-9, from Lily's point of view. I've started a blog kind of thing (it's updated about as often as this is, so don't get too excited, lol). www . libertasfiction . net I'm going to put a poll up there from June 15th to June 20th and you can vote for the chapter you'd like to see from Lily's perspective. I'm interested to see what you all want to hear from her. . .

Much love and hugs.

Sin


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